Destiny Trilogy Part 2: The Children of Lughnasadh
by LaMuerta
Summary: After the last victory over Voldemort, the Dark Lord will need some time to recover...right? Harry's about to learn that prophecies can be tricky things. (rated PG for mild language and slight violence. NO slash! And I'd suggest reading Part 1 first.)
1. Chapter 1: Another Dursley Summer

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JKR, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Any language written here that ain't English will have a translation at the end of the chapter and anyone expecting me to repeat this disclaimer before subsequent chapters will have their still-beating hearts dug out with a spoon. 

Chapter 1: Another Dursley Summer

Harry woke up to find the morning sunlight streaming in through his dingy window. He rolled over to glance at his alarm clock—it was already eight o'clock. Aunt Petunia would be storming up the stairs to yell at him any minute now. Sighing, he dragged himself out of bed a little reluctantly. It had been such a long time since he'd had a proper night's rest uninterrupted by dreams filled with the same images of Cedric or Voldemort replaying in his head over and over again, like a muggle record gone crazy. 

Of course he suspected that the dreams would never really go away. How could they, when year after year he got to experience more horrific and traumatic situations than most of his peers had faced? Harry was still surprised by the almost shocking normalcy his life had returned to after the events of his last school year. After all it wasn't every day you fought in a great battle with monsters that had been resurrected from the dead by the most terrible Dark Lord of all time, not to mention being healed by a dragon. Even if he was the Boy-Who-Had-Lived-Countless-Times-And-Still-Refused-To-Quit. Surprisingly enough, the carnage of the battle Harry had found himself in the midst of during the last school term hadn't made any cameo appearances in his dreams either.

He fumbled for his glasses and glanced at his own reflection in the mirror. Harry had grown quite a bit over the summer (although he was probably still a bit too skinny), and his once too-big glasses were now ridiculously small. Besides, his vision was still blurred even when he was wearing them. He sighed, realising he hadn't seen any shops selling glasses in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Harry contemplated owling Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall to ask where they made their glasses, then decided they were probably too busy to answer silly questions like that. He'd have to sneak out to a muggle optician somehow or get Hermione to teach him a spell to fix his glasses for him.

He made his way down the stairs a little distractedly, not really noticing how the Dursleys had all been keeping a safe distance away from Harry ever since he'd come back from his "freak school" with a bit of that old fire back in his emerald eyes. Dudley was still on his diet, but if anything, he seemed to have managed to gain even more weight than Harry had thought possible and now required a custom-made chair to sit on after breaking three of the sturdy wooden kitchen chairs. 

Harry pushed his celery around his bowl a bit, waiting for Uncle Vernon to finish his coffee, while Dudley eyed the remainder of his breakfast greedily. Dumbledore had finally agreed to let Harry spend the last week of the summer with the Weasleys since Voldemort and his army were likely to be still recovering from their last defeat, but knowing how badly the Dursleys' last encounter with wizards had gone, he had a bad feeling that it would be a very difficult task convincing Uncle Vernon to allow any adult wizard to accompany him to The Burrow.

"It's a pity that old Mrs. Figg died, or we'd put this freak with her." Uncle Vernon said to his wife.

"She's what?" Harry asked, shocked out of his thoughts.

"Dead." Uncle Vernon said, disgruntled. "Died a few months ago."

"How?" Harry asked, his heart growing cold at the way they were treating their neighbour's death as a mere inconvenience. Harry hadn't exactly loved the cabbage-smelling old lady who was overly obsessed with her cats, but she had been nice to him.

"Stop asking questions." Aunt Petunia snapped. "Anyway, we're going to the country to visit Marge during the last week of summer and we're not taking you along."

_As if I would **want** to come along_, Harry snorted.

"I could put up at my friend's place for the rest of the summer," Harry suggested hopefully.

Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed to distrustful slits.

"You mean the…_barbarian_ who blasted away half the living room the last time with those hooligan brats of his?"

Dudley whimpered at the reminder of the Ton-Tongue Toffee episode, causing Aunt Petunia to rush over to him immediately and glare at Harry as if mentioning the incident would give him ideas to try something funny at her precious Dudley-kinns.

_At least they'd bother to rescue me from the maltreatment from my** family,**_ Harry thought crossly. 

"Don't give us that look." Aunt Petunia said venomously, cradling her Dinky Duddydums's pudgy head in her arms in what was supposedly a comforting fashion. "Only freaks like you would want you."

"Get yourself over there as soon as you can, since they'll take you." Uncle Vernon agreed. 

Harry bit back a retort and just nodded, not wanting them to change their minds.

/I wish I had friends like that. /

Harry blinked and looked up from stabbing at his celery. Had he just heard _Dudley say that?_

"What did you just say?" He asked Dudley.

"I didn't say anything," Dudley said, paling and eyeing him suspiciously, looking like he was going to bolt (or more likely, waddle) out of his seat as fast as his legs would carry him.

Just then, there was a loud tapping on the window and a shriek from Aunt Petunia, and the kitchen erupted in a flurry of commotion, nearly causing the poor owl outside to fall off the windowsill. Dudley, on the other hand, did fall off his chair and managed to topple his chair and dent the new kitchen linoleum in the process, while Harry hurriedly opened the window before Uncle Vernon could stop him and grabbed the owl, running up the stairs to his room two steps at a time.

"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I WARNED YOU ABOUT THIS? I WILL NOT TOLERA—"

Harry slammed the door shut, cutting off Uncle Vernon's rant. He placed the rather traumatised bird on the perch next to Hedwig and gently took the letter from it. It had a Hogwarts seal on it, but it was much thicker than usual. Besides the list of required items for the next school year, he found a letter:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDARY

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have achieved high O.W.L.s in Divination, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures, as well as satisfactory grades in your Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic and Charms O.W.L.s, and are now eligible to enter the sixth-year standard of your magical education. 

You will find your certificate and a list of books and equipment you will require for the courses you have opted for enclosed with this letter. 

Congratulations on your results.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall (Deputy Headmistress)

He put the letter down, deep in thought. As Ron had predicted, they'd had scrying for their O.W.L.s. He hadn't seen anything, much to his relief, so he'd just foretold his own gory and tragic death, pleasing Trelawney immensely. But Harry had rather expected Snape to fail him because of Kera. And speaking of Kera…

Harry glanced at the paper he had pinned on the wall counting down the days to September the first. It would be the 31st of July tomorrow—his birthday, but hers as well. Grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment, he started writing his first ever letter to her.

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

Harry woke up at midnight to the sound something bumping against the window pane. The moment he opened the window, something small and grey zipped in like a very feathery rocket, nearly knocking his glasses off. 

"Alright, alright, keep your feathers on," Harry chuckled as the over-excited Pig zoomed chirpily around despite having a rather sizable package tied to its feet.

He was followed by two tawny school owls which eyed the enthusiastic little owl disapprovingly and perched themselves on the back of his chair since there was no more space on Hedwig's perch. They turned out to be from Hagrid, Sirius and Remus.

Hagrid had sent him a rather edible cake, which he admitted Madame Maxime had helped him bake. Sirius and Remus had also sent him a cake (slightly lop-sided and with the icing put on in a rather haphazard way) and Harry had a good laugh reading about the mess they'd made trying to bake it.

After a few unsuccessful tries, he managed to grab Pig long enough to relief him of the package. 

"Wow." Harry's eyes lit up when he saw the tiny golden ball engraved with a minute 'HP'. It turned out that Hermione had pitched in with Ron to get him a Seeker practice kit with a monogrammed Snitch. Enclosed with the parcel was a card from Hermione and a letter in Ron's messy scrawl:

Harry,

Happy Birthday, mate! Hope the Dursleys aren't giving you any grief. Can't wait for you to get here so we can have a few games and you can try out that Snitch! Dumbledore's got your transport for all arranged, but Dad won't let on what it is. I reckon he's still angry over the Ton-Tongue Toffees. 

Speaking of the twins, you won't believe this, but Fred and George have gotten themselves a shop in Hogsmeade selling their Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Mom's furious, but they won't say how they got the money. I'd say something fishy's going on—first the dress robes, now this. Do you think they managed to get their money back from Bagman after all?

Ron

P/S: Ginny says happy birthday too

Harry grinned, happy to know that the twins were making good use of the Triwizard Tournament winnings. He was arranging his birthday cards on the dresser when Hedwig suddenly started hooting loudly.

"What is it, Hedwig?" Harry asked, hoping she hadn't woken the Dursleys up.

He heard the distinct dull clacking of talons on wood and turned around.

A rather unfriendly and unfamiliar spotted owl was sitting morosely on his windowsill. It blinked its pale eyes, tossed an envelope at a very astonished Harry, and soared away into the night. There was no address, but the envelope was sealed properly and the blob of green wax was marked with an elaborate insignia much like the one Malfoy had on the clasp of his dress robes. Wishing he could have used his wand to open it, he broke the seal warily, prepared to fling it out of the window if it exploded like Voldemort's Howler. But it turned out to contain only a photograph with a short note:

Dubhan probably won't wait for your reply, he has a mind of his own.

K. Ladon

Surprised and feeling rather pleased that he had sent her a birthday greeting after all, Harry turned his attention to the photograph. It was a normal coloured muggle snapshot of two girls wearing Hogwarts robes, standing in front of Honeydukes. The taller girl had a pair of brilliant green eyes and red hair that partially covered the Gryffindor crest on her robes. She couldn't have been more than fourteen, smiling and carefree, the younger version of the woman in the photos Harry had in the album Hagrid had given him in his first year. The other girl was wearing Slytherin robes and had hair a strange sheen of bluish-black. She was smiling shyly at the camera in a way that made Harry feel she was really smiling at the person behind the camera. Only "To Deirdre, Love Lily" was written at the back of the photograph, but he hadn't needed a caption to know who that other girl was.

_We've both got our mothers' eyes,_ Harry thought with a sad smile.

[A/N: Sorry I took so long…I was writing this other fic (it's purely for fun and it's a little silly) called "The Gates Just Opened". You can choose your own ending (except that neither choices so far have resulted in an ending ^_^||). It's still a work in progress, but you can check it out if you're interested…there's a link on the author page.

My timeline for this chapter may be a bit mixed up because I couldn't decide whether to follow the book or the movie. Just…assume that it's right. =P]


	2. Chapter 2: The Dragons' Lairs

Chapter 2: The Dragons' Lairs

Draco woke up to a room artificially darkened by heavy curtains. For a moment, he just lay there in bed, staring up at the velvet canopy of his enormous four-poster bed that could easily have accommodated a small family. He could lie there forever (well, at least until his charms tutor came) and nobody would bother to call for him. With an inward sigh, he pushed back the smooth silk covers, his paleness blending with the cream of his satin sheets. The carpet was cool under his bare feet. He changed into a thick robe, something in a deep shade of blue or green—or maybe something black, it was hard to tell—like everything else in his wardrobe. The Manor could be cold, though now made almost bearable by the sticky humidity of summer, set somewhere unplottable in a deserted moor where no muggles would be foolhardy enough to venture near.

His room was neat, flawlessly so—everything in its place, much like what a guest room or a display room might look like, something you couldn't put your finger on missing from the luxurious fittings and intricately designed furnishing. The only thing out of place was Kera's brief thank-you note lying open on his desk, only the third letter he'd received from her. It was tempting to believe that all she'd said about being friends had been mere lies, even though he knew she'd shown more trust in him than he deserved. 

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Delicate aristocratic features framed by hair so pale it was almost white. Eyes like pools of cold silver.

"Perfect." His mirror purred.

He'd been terrified of walking down the maze-like hallways when he was younger, feeling the gaze of the pictures on his back, portraits of ancestors long dead watching him as he held his head high and fought the un-Malfoy-like urge to run, each one rich, powerful, and deeply involved in the Dark Arts. Portraits of law-abiding muggle-loving wizards didn't make the hallways of Malfoy Manor. 

Now he strolled through them indifferently, turning a corner towards the soft clink of silverware. 

The Dining Room was huge and decorated liberally with expensive-looking tapestries and delicate silver candelabras, obviously intended to impress guests. Other than that it was mostly empty save a long table for at least twenty in the middle of the room. Narcissa Malfoy was seated at one end of the table, and another place had been set at the other end for Draco.

"Good morning Mother." 

Narcissa acknowledged his presence with a brief nod, not looking up from her meal.

Draco took his place and began to eat, putting the food in his mouth, chewing, swallowing, just doing what he was expected to do, not really tasting what he was eating and not really caring. Mother and son ate in silence.

"Remember to get the house-elves to iron your new robes for your birthday dinner tomorrow." She said, rising from the table.

"Yes Mother." Draco replied dully to the empty room. 

Every year his parents would invite all the respectable pure-blood children to his birthday party, a circle of friends chosen for him from like-minded families like the Notts and the Parkinsons. And every year Draco would be forced to be reasonably cordial to them while they fawned over him and tried to get in his favour, the way their parents grovelled to his father.

The front doors open with a bang that resounded through the whole Manor, and Draco felt the tendrils of fear begin to creep through his veins. He knew Father had been Summoned alone last night, since the Lestranges and Macnairs had been with them for dinner and not felt a thing. And if there was something that could put him in an even worse mood then facing the Dark Lord's wrath and having a failure like him for a son, it was being embarrassed in front of his guests. 

Sure enough, Lucius Malfoy stormed into the dining room moments later, sending one of house-elves who usually followed him around skidding across the floor on its face and fleeing into the kitchen.

"In my study. Now." He snapped, without so much as a glance at his son.

Suddenly regretting eating any of his breakfast at all, Draco got out of his seat with as much composure as he could muster and followed in his father's wake down the darkened hallways, his heart pounding furiously, dreading what his father would do to him. All around him the portraits scowled at him, hissing disapprovingly. 

Draco was seldom allowed into his father's study, although right now he'd rather not be here at all. His father talked business with his fellow Death Eaters in here, and occasionally he would have some strange guests who were always carefully hooded and masked. Draco also knew that the key to the room under the drawing room floor lay somewhere in the many secret drawers of the polished mahogany desk in front of him, probably protected by all kinds of hexes and curses. The walls were lined with shelves of books Draco was forbidden to touch—books with tattered and peeling covers, books which seemed to whisper faintly in strange tongues that sent shivers down his spine. 

Draco tried not to jump when the door slammed behind him. 

He stood still and at attention as Lucius began circling him slowly like a predator observing its prey.

"The Dark Lord was most...displeased."

Draco gave an involuntary shudder. Lucius leant in until he could feel his breath on the back on his neck.

"What were you thinking?" Lucius spat, his voice soft and dangerous.

Draco winced as though his father had shouted right into his ear.

"Is it about that Granger mudblood again?"

Draco looked up in surprise.

"Do you think I don't know?" The senior Malfoy said, mistaking the reason for Draco's surprise. "Young Miss Parkinson took the liberty of informing me."

Draco tried hard not to show his relief. He didn't know how much he dared to tell his father, but it would be generally safer to put the blame of his actions on something as trivial as gaining some girl's attention. And maybe it _had partly been about impressing Granger._

"It's not about her." Draco replied quickly, reflecting that it would be suicidal to let his father know he was really interested a mudblood.

At this admission, Lucius thumped his cane so hard on the floor Draco was sure he had dented the marble through the carpet. 

"You're going to turn out like your precious Professor Snape before you know it," Lucius hissed angrily. 

"I'm sorry, Father." Draco said softly, keeping his gaze on the floor. This show of submission seemed to calm Lucius down a bit.

"And which other mudblood has bewitched you so much that you dare to go against the wishes of the Dark Lord?" Lucius sneered.

"She's pure-blood," Draco said. That was partly true, at least. "Her name is Kera Ladon."

"Did you just say Ladon?"

At that sudden change of tone, Draco looked up at his father. On that pale pointed face so much like his own, he saw the hint of a smile. A cruel, calculating smile.

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

Kera drew her robes around her, her breath condensing into clouds, even if it was summer. She made her way down the dark stone steps, the enchanted torches giving off an eerie, cold green light. Enchanted torches that absorbed heat, because he claimed heat from changing seasons might affect some of the more sensitive potions he was brewing. Why Severus insisted on staying in the freezing dungeons even in the dead of winter was beyond her house-elves, but it was not lost on her. Kera walked quickly towards the end of the dark corridor to stop in front of a heavy oak door. She raised her hand to knock, but the door just swung open on its own accord.

A small cauldron was simmering gently in his fireplace, giving off a pungent odour. Severus was staring into its flickering flames. Behind him, the Spartan furnishings—or what could pass off as furnishings—reflected a man who was trying to atone for some unspeakable evil.

"You are supposed to be resting." He said without looking up.

"Dinner will be ready soon." Ordinarily this would have been a job for the house-elves, but Severus didn't even raise an eyebrow.

"I have things that need attending to." Severus said gruffly. "I'll get the house-elves to send something down later."

She didn't move from the doorway. He looked up and arched an eyebrow at her.

"Sit down," he finally said, turning to his cupboard to take out a handful of dried leaves. Wolfsbane.

_For the werewolf,_ she realised.

He added the final ingredient to the bubbling potion, stirring thrice anti-clockwise. He let it rise to a boil, then with a casual wave of his hand, he froze the potion in mid-boil. He carefully bottled the smoking potion.

"Why do you still do it?" 

"He is of use to Albus." Severus replied evenly, banishing the bottles into a box.

He noticed the pendant around her neck and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"From Draco." She told him, handing it over for him to examine. 

It was a simple flat circular disk made of silver, set with a sizeable but awkwardly shaped gem in the middle.

"Dracontias." Severus observed with some amusement as he handed it back to her. "Aren't you worried that he charmed it again?"

"Are you?"

"No." _But perhaps you shouldn't listen to me._

"I trust him." She said, clasping the chain around her neck.

"Even after what he has done?"

"People make mistakes." She said, her pale green eyes meeting his cold obsidian ones.

"And some people don't learn from them until it's too late."

_He was standing before the impassive stone gargoyle which guarded Dumbledore's office. The rain was pounding against the high windows, snaking silvery down while lightning and thunder crashed outside the walls. Dumbledore's voice concerned, as he insisted that he sit down while he told him everything, while he recited his piece in a dull monotone, the warmth of the fire uncomfortably close. She was dead, dead by the hands of those he had called his fellows, one united under the Dark Mark. One of the only two true friends he had ever made. A Slytherin, yes, but one who had been untouched by the darkness, the girl who lived in a different world from his and under a different code of rules. The girl with the sad green eyes the exact shade of those belonging to the girl who stood before him now, the child she had left in his care before looking into those eyes had become like looking in on an empty room..._

Kera looked away, having no answer to that statement.

The wards around the grounds rippled, indicating the arrival of a non-human guest sliding through the magical barriers.

"I told Mehen not to come today." Severus said, frowning as he snapped out of his brooding. "You are too weak to continue with lessons at the moment."

Kera frowned but didn't protest when she saw the look on Severus's face. Both of them turned expectantly towards the door, and sure enough there was a loud crack and one of the house-elves appeared at the doorway.

"What is it?"

"Lord Veneficus requests your presence, Mister Snape sir," the house-elf squeaked.

Severus scowled.

"Stay here." he told her, sweeping out after the tiny creature.

Overcome with unease but not wanting to disobey Severus, Kera forced herself to sit down, the silence in the dungeon getting more unbearable by the minute. Then, unable to stand it any longer, she rose and made her way out of the dungeons, hoping they hadn't killed each other by now.

She heard sounds of what must have sounded like a furious hissing and spitting match to the house-elves emitting from the study and quickened her pace.

"She will not, and _that is final_." Snape said in dangerously quiet tones.

"Silence, human!" The moustached man sneered. "What gives you the authority to say anything, even if you are a Pythosmouth?"

"I am her legal guardian until she is of age."

"A human binding that none of our kind recognises."

"I do." Kera said as she entered the room, eyeing Veneficus coldly.  

"_Bheil_ tu fathast leanabh_." Veneficus spat out. [1] _

Kera turned around hissing.

"_Di-chuimhnich_ agad bhur-nindhe_." [2] She said softly, her pale eyes blazing. Although she was a good lot shorter than Veneficus, something in her posture and tone made him step back hurriedly and bow low. _

"I meant no disrespect."

_I see she has been picking up more than just Potion skills from me,_ Severus thought, mildly amused.

"Leave." She said with a dismissive wave.

When Veneficus had left, Kera relaxed her shoulders a bit, barely perceptibly letting go of the breath she'd been holding in. She sat down in one of the high-backed chairs, aware of Severus observing her intently. 

"Very impressive." He commented softly, his mouth quirking into a slight smile.

She felt a strange feeling of pride well up in her chest as she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"I am who you brought me up to be."

[A/N: translations are as follows:

1) "You are but a child."

2) "You forget your place."

Severus is amused by the dracontias pendant because it's a magical stone extracted from the head of a live dragon, after which the dragon probably died. Dracontias is used to produce cures for poisons and is also thought to have protective properties.

My knowledge of Scottish Gaelic is very limited, so if anyone who _does speak/write it spots any grammatical errors please feel free to correct me. =) And I'm having a bit of a writer's block for Chapters 3&4, so excuse me while I go off somewhere else for a while to clear my mind…]_


	3. Chapter 3: Ars Notoria

Chapter 3: Ars Notoria

The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive had reached new levels of uneasiness by noon. Uncle Vernon pretended to calmly read the paper (which he held upside-down) and jumped at every noise, while Dudley had huddled himself in a corner of the kitchen and was stuffing himself madly with what Aunt Petunia had termed "comfort food", and for once he didn't look like he was enjoying himself very much. Aunt Petunia had also drawn all the curtains to prevent the neighbours from looking in on any abnormality that might occur, which only served to irritate the Dursleys even more now that the house was also hot and stuffy. It didn't help that Harry didn't know how Mr. Weasley would be travelling this time, even though Harry had assured them they wouldn't be arriving by Floo Powder and that the twins would most probably not be allowed to tag along. At ten minutes to three, Harry dragged his heavy trunk down the stairs, not wanting to test the Dursleys' patience too much.

He spent the next ten minutes sitting on his trunk (he wasn't allowed to sit on the couch) watching Uncle Vernon's moustache twitch nervously in time with the second hand on the huge grandfather clock in the living room.

Four…three…two…one…

A muffled howl of terror was heard coming from the kitchen.

"Dudleydums!" Aunt Petunia cried out, standing up to rescue her precious son from whatever evil freak that had come for Harry, but before she could enter the kitchen, Dudley nearly flattened his scrawny mother by rushing out suddenly, squealing and gibbering piteously.

"You!" Uncle Vernon barked, shoving Harry in front of him. "See what's in there."

Harry sighed and nodded apprehensively, making his way slowly towards the kitchen, which was unnervingly quiet. Surely Mr. Weasley or any other adult wizard would have made his entrance by now. He felt his left pocket for his wand and cautiously peeked into the kitchen.

It was completely empty. The only thing out of place in the absurdly neat kitchen was Dudley's stack of snacks in the corner that he had trampled on in his hurry to get out, and now all scattered over the newly-cleaned floor.

"Well?" Uncle Vernon hissed from behind him.

"Doesn't seem to be—"

Then something collided into him and hugged him so tightly he was sure he was going to die from suffocation.

"Ouf…what the…I can't breathe…"

Harry found himself looking down at the familiar the pencil-shaped nose, large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls.

"Dobby?" Harry choked out in amazement as the elf finally let go of him.

The house-elf was wearing a white baby bonnet for a hat, on which he had fastened a number of shiny badges that seemed to have been polished with care. He was wearing odd socks as usual, one of which Harry recognised as the horrid-looking mustard yellow ones Harry had received from the Dursleys long ago that had once belonged to Uncle Vernon.  The other was a brilliant flashing neon green with bright pink polka-dots that turned purple when Dobby moved. There was also a black bow tie fastened loosely around his small neck, perhaps in attempt to look more presentable.

"Dobby has come to take Harry Potter to Diagon Alley!" the little elf informed him cheerfully. "Professor Dumbledore is afraid bad Dark Wizards will try to harm Harry Potter, so Dobby is here to make sure Harry Potter is safe."

Harry frowned a little, remembering Dobby's attempts to "keep Harry Potter safe" in his second year. But before he could say anything, he was dragged forcibly backwards by the collar into the living room by Uncle Vernon.

"What is that...that_ thing_?!" Uncle Vernon yelled, his eyes bulging out of his head in fear and anger. "AND WHY IS IT WEARING MY SOCKS?"

Harry winced at the volume.

"Harry Potter gave them to Dobby, sir!" the house-elf answered with seemingly infallible enthusiasm as it hopped down from the kitchen table, totally paying no attention to the way Uncle Vernon had backed away hurriedly with a look of abject horror fixed on his face.

"Uh Dobby, maybe we should just…go now." Harry suggested as he watched the Dursleys cower into the furthest corner, their eyes wide with fright at the sight of the tiny ridiculously-dressed creature jumping about in front of them.

Dobby nodded and took hold of Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage, now empty since she had already flown to the Burrow in the morning.

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked curiously.

"Dobby will magic Harry Potter there."

"But the Improper Use Of Magic Office…"

"Professor Dumbledore has informed the Ministry wizards." Dobby reassured him. 

"Harry Potter may want to close his eyes." Dobby said, offering Harry his free hand.

There was a familiar loud crack, and Harry had the strange sensation of having his body split up into tiny particles and being picked up by a whirlwind of magic. The air around him crackled with a strangely familiar electrical feeling he couldn't put his finger on, yet it wasn't as disorientating as travelling by Floo Powder or Portkey. He couldn't have opened his eyes even if he had wanted to—he wasn't even sure he _had_ eyes at all. For a moment he panicked, then he felt a weird tickling sensation like he was reforming into a solid body and the tight grip of Dobby's bony long-fingered hand in his…then his feet hit firm ground and he heard a soft thud that must have been his trunk.

Harry opened his eyes tentatively and found himself in the gloomy but comforting darkness of The Leaky Cauldron.

"Harry Potter is back in Diagon Alley!" Dobby proclaimed happily.

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

It took some time finding Hermione and Ron in the crowd, but soon the Gryffindor trio were happily shopping for school supplies in the familiar long cobbled street lined with hundreds of wizarding shops and admiring the newest broom at Quality Quidditch Supplies, the Meteorite 250, a sleek-handled broom reputed to be a hot favourite among the European National Quidditch teams. Despite his joy at being able to hang out with his friends again, Harry was suddenly very grateful that Professor McGonagall had done his shopping for him the previous year. If some of the people on the street were looking at him strangely now, Harry didn't want to know what they might have done to him last year, immediately after Cedric's death and the Rita Skeeter articles. More than once he heard someone whisper "parselmouth" as he passed, and though having less people coming up to him wanting to shake his hand or ogle at his scar was a great improvement, he didn't like the way they were pointing at him behind his back and crossing the street to avoid him either.

"Oh come on 'Mione, we've got almost two hours before we meet mom back at the Leaky Cauldron!"

"But it's not safe!" Hermione protested. "The three of us are hardly a match for anyone or anything that might come for Harry."

"Like any of those Death Eaters would be caught dead in muggle London." Ron snorted. "Anyway they're probably all still licking their wounds after that battle."

"I really need new glasses." Harry agreed. "And you said you've never heard of a spell that could change the degree of my lenses."

"I might be able to find it in the library. Or we could get Professor McGonagall to do it for you when we get back to Hogwarts..."

"'Mione...just this once?" Ron pleaded, eager to have a look at the weird and wonderful world of muggles.

"Oh alright…but only for as long as needed." Hermione relented. 

After Harry had changed for some muggle money at Gringotts, Hermione and Ron changed out of their robes and slipped out of The Leaky Cauldron into muggle London. 

It was all as Harry remembered when Hagrid had first brought him to Diagon Alley so many years ago…when he had only been eleven and Voldemort had been thought gone for good, and being seen in the company of Harry Potter hadn't been life-threatening. Here the books didn't bite if they weren't stroked properly and there were bicycles instead of broomsticks displayed in the shop windows. Just ordinary streets full of ordinary people, where no one would double back to take a second look at the scrawny dark haired teen with thick spectacles and green eyes.

"My dad usually gets his glasses done here," Hermione told them, pointing to a big brightly-lit shop just around the corner.

He was shown a wide array of spectacle frames by a very talkative young man while Hermione popped into the bookshop next door and Ron went off to explore the air-conditioning system. 

"Play sports?"

"Yeah." Harry mumbled.

"Football? You're certainly too short for basketball."

"Something like that."  

"Then maybe you should try contact lenses. It's more convenient, plus you'll have all the girls sitting up and taking notice of you." The man promised, winking at him. Which was really the last thing Harry needed, even if it was from Cho. Harry ended up choosing the pair that looked most like his old pair. 

"We've got more than half an hour to kill before my new glasses will be ready."

"So what do we do now?" Ron asked as he put his arm around Hermione.

"Let's go to the British Museum." Hermione suggested eagerly.

"And just why are we going to some musty museum? I want to see other muggle stuff, like this weird air cooling thing." Ron said.

"The British Museum is having an exhibition of what is supposed to be the original copy of the _Ars Notoria." Hermione said, excitedly pointing at a banner across the road._

"The what?" Harry asked.

"It's the first book of magic ever written." Hermione explained impatiently. "Professor Binns mentioned it in class two years ago!"

"You actually _remember_ what he said? I wasn't even listening!" Ron snorted.

"What would a book on magic be doing in a muggle museum?" Harry asked.

"It doesn't really have any real magic," Hermione explained.

"Then why do we have to see this thing?"

"It's an important source of information to show muggle attitude towards magic!"

"You dropped History of Magic in favour of Herbology last year," Harry reminded her. 

In the previous term they had been asked to choose at least four subjects they wanted to study at an Advanced Level for their N.E.W.T.s. Naturally, Potions and Divination had been dropped quickly without further consideration for both boys, but Hermione, on the other hand, had spent hours agonising and fussing about having to drop anything, since they were only allowed a maximum of seven subjects.

"Oh come on, it's only a few streets away!" Hermione said, looking at Ron pleadingly.

"Says the girl who didn't want us to even step out here." Harry teased.

"But this is educational!"

"Oh okay." Ron gave in reluctantly. "And stop grinning like that!" He playfully shoved Harry, which only made his friend's grin widen even further.

They would have gotten to the museum sooner, but although Ron often expressed embarrassment at Mr. Weasley's fascination with muggle contraptions, they had practically had to drag him away from the electronic stores along Tottenham Court Road. 

The museum grounds were large and spacious, though of course it wasn't nearly as spectacular as Hogwarts. They wandered into the large exhibition hall, kept cool and dry to minimise damage on the artefacts. In the middle was an old tattered looking book in glass case, and there were various amulets, goblets and books displayed along the walls as well.

"Not much to look at, is it?" Ron said dryly, looking at the yellowed and fragile looking parchment of the _Ars Notoria_. 

"Let's go over there," Harry suggested, leaving Hermione to read the historical notes.

The two boys browsed idly among the display cases, not really paying attention to what was inside since they all sort of looked the same to them—tarnished metal pieces with some squiggly lines etched in, occasionally set with a gem or a piece of bone or some beast's tooth. 

_This is kind of nice after all_, Harry thought, just enjoying the quiet of the room and the late evening sunlight streaming in through the high windows, his best friend beside him in companionable silence. Suddenly, Harry felt an odd tingling sensation. Puzzled and slightly worried, he slowed down his pace. His scar still felt okay at the moment, but…The feeling intensified slowly, until he finally stopped in front of one of the cases holding a goblet-like thing. It seemed to be made of gold, slightly tarnished and with an oddly-shaped depression on one side of the cup that looked as if someone had thrown a rock at it and dented it. There were also carvings round the sides which Harry recognised as Runes.

"'The Chalice of Morgan Le Fay.'" Harry squinted and leant closer to read the card. 

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as she came up to them.

"There's something about this chalice," Harry muttered.

But before she could ask him anything else, Ron turned towards the two of them and signalled urgently.

"That man over there! That's Arnold Peasegood—he got transferred to the Magical Artefacts Office recently." 

"He's an Oblivator, isn't he?" Hermione asked, remembering Mr. Weasley's introduction from the Quidditch World Cup.

"What's he doing here?"

The Oblivator looked up at the sound of the Gryffindors' not-so-subtle whispers in the hushed exhibition hall. There was a flicker of recognisation on his face as he made his way towards them.

"You'd be Arthur Weasley's youngest son, eh?" he said as he glanced at the red hair and freckles. 

Then he performed the double take Harry was heartily sick of seeing people do.

"And Harry Potter!"

"Hello Mr. Peasegood." Harry said as he attempted to smile politely. 

"Yes, hello…" the Oblivator said distractedly. "Are you kids supposed to be here on your own?"

"Uh…well, we wanted to have a look at the _Ars Notoria." Hermione explained. "For History of Magic."_

"I see…well, best be getting yourselves back to Diagon Alley now." He told them with a pointed look.

"Goodbye Mr. Peasegood." Hermione agreed politely, pushing the two boys in front of her out of the entrance, only letting go of them when they were out of the museum.

"Now what was that all about?" Ron asked in puzzlement.

[A/N: There! I've finally finished this chapter. =) It took so long because I was being anal-retentive. *LOL*

The _Ars Notoria_ is also known as the Notory Art of Solomon, said to be knowledge passed down from God himself. It covers stuff such as "divine revelation" and "the art of memory", and is really more about Science than magic.

Since it's not mentioned in canon, I'm assuming that The Leaky Cauldron should be somewhere near King's Cross Station, so I chose to put it somewhere in the vicinity of Oxford Street (looked like an interesting street to me). Anyway they needed a car to get from The Leaky Cauldron to King's Cross, so it's probably not too near. I don't live in London and I've never been to London, so all this stuff about the streets is from maps and photographs. If there are any mistakes or better suggestions, please tell me.]


	4. Chapter 4: The Exploding Room

Chapter 4: The Exploding Room 

It was nice to be back in The Burrow, the day's shopping scattered all over in Ron's blatantly orange room since both had been too tired to do any packing. It was hot and stuffy tonight— almost unbearably so, even after Harry had kicked off his covers—and the ghoul in the attic was making noisy clunking noises again almost as if in tune with the cicadas outside the window. Harry didn't really mind though. Compared to his old cot in the cupboard under the stairs with its sinister creaks and thumping footsteps belonging to an over-weight Dudley, this was heaven. 

"Are you still awake?" Ron's voice came through the darkness.

"Yeah."

"Sorry about the ghoul."

"It's alright, actually." _No, there are more important things than raucous unwanted house-guests. Such as why I was crackling like tinfoil back at the museum and why I'm starting to feel it here as well. _

"More of those dreams?" Ron asked hesitatingly.

"Nah, haven't had them for a while now."

Ron cleared his throat.

"There's something I thought I ought to tell you." Ron said.

"What is it?" There was silence for such a long time that Harry thought Ron might have fallen asleep.

"I've been made Quidditch Captain." Ron finally replied.

"That's great!" Harry said, grinning in the dark at Ron. "Congratulations."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked nervously. "I mean, you're the youngest Seeker in a century and I was only a reserve last year..."

"But you know more about Quidditch then I do, and you're good at strategising." Harry pointed out. "Besides, I could barely understand those plays Wood or Angelina used to explain with the squiggly lines and stuff."

"Then how have you been playing all this while?"

"Instinct I suppose." Harry said sheepishly.

Ron made an exasperated and extremely agitated noise.

"Quidditch practice tomorrow." He said firmly.

"Yes, Captain." Harry grinned.

Then Harry felt a distinct jolt of electricity ripple through the air, hitting him so suddenly he nearly yelped out in surprise. Over the racket the ghoul was making, he heard a muffled boom in the direction of the twins' room, like something had blown up while it was in a container. Harry relaxed. _Just Fred and George experimenting again.__ Although it still doesn't explain why I should be feeling it like this._

"Anything strange happening?" Ron asked. Harry jumped a bit. "I mean after Kera…you know."

He could have kicked himself. Of course! Kera might know. He would just have to write to her as soon as he could.

"No, nothing's happening. Goodnight Ron."

"Goodnight Harry."

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

"Ladies and gentlemen…we are in the presence of greatness." Fred said solemnly as Ron and Harry made their way down the stairs for breakfast the next morning.

"Our ickle Rinney-Ronnie-kins all grown up now." George agreed, pretending to wipe away a tear.

"No more from the two of you." Mrs. Weasley scolded, dishing out eggs and bacon for the two boys and giving her youngest son a fond look. "At least I know that some of my children have been behaving themselves and making good use of their time."

"Mum!" Fred cried out, melodramatically placing a hand on over his heart. "How could you!"

"We slaved like house-elves over our homework, didn't we Fred?" George joined in. 

"Entirely abandoned our friends." Fred agreed.

"Missed Quidditch practices."

"Forgot to take our meals."

"Moved our beds to the library."

"That's quite enough." Mrs. Weasley said primly, though unable to stop herself from smiling at their antics.

"You'll be joining us for Quidditch later?" Ron asked his brothers.

"Yeah, sure." Fred nodded, chewing on another slice of toast.

"But we're taking Harry somewhere first."

"What is it?" Harry asked, hurriedly finishing the rest of his eggs.

"We've got something to show you." George said, pushing Harry in front of him and up the stairs. 

"We thought our main sponsor should have a look at what we've been doing with your investment." Fred whispered, grinning.

"Hey! How come he gets to see your stuff and I don't? Wait up!" Ron called out, hurrying behind his brothers.

"Bothersome little kid." George snorted, ruffling his younger brother's flaming hair.

If Harry had ever found it hard to sleep in Ron's room because of the colour-scheme, he reckoned the twins' room would have given him permanent insomnia. It seemed that the twins, in an—even for them—unusually exuberant mood, had just gone about randomly spelling the wallpaper with various lurid coloured splashes. 

"Remind me to get some muggle shade-glasses the next time I come in here." Ron muttered.

Their room was in a mess…an organised mess, if one could call it that. There were bottles of strangely coloured potions all over the tables and packets of dried herbs and spices overflowing from the drawers. Rows and rows of glass bottles were randomly stacked on the shelves with labels like "Basilisk Scales", "Billywig Stings" and "Medusa Grass". And then there were the cauldrons—some steaming and bubbling with strange but edible-smelling liquids, others half empty and still smoking, and a few containing things he bet would result in creations that would surely make the top of Filch's list of items not allowed in the castle. It was like walking into some sort of medieval science laboratory, with pewter fixings instead of glass tubes. _If Snape ever saw this, he'd probably have a fit, Harry thought, thinking of the potions master's orderly and dreary classrooms as he stared up at a number of large patches where something even Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess-Remover had been unable to get rid of had apparently exploded and got splattered on the ceiling. _

Surprisingly, there was also a sizable stack of books on the floor just under an Appleby Arrows poster, and another stack of parchments scribbled full of sketches and ingredient lists on the desk near a window that looked out over the side of the house to the little river that flowed just past Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Mom's going to go spare when she sees this," Ron said, pointing out a huge spill that was soaking into the rough wooden planks that made up the floor.

"Oh hush," Fred said, rummaging in a nearby chest of drawers and coming up with a sack full of round-ish sweets. "We'll just move one of the beds over it."

"What are these?" Harry asked, picking up one of the brightly-wrapped candies a bit warily.

"Chameleon Comfits!" Fred announced proudly. 

"Turns your hair to match whatever fabric is closest to your hair for an hour." George explained.

"We tried it on Percy when he was wearing that Ravenclaw scarf his _girlfriend gave him." Fred said gleefully._

"Well, took us a while to get the potion quantities just right, but our dear Percy was kind enough to test it for us." George said innocently.

"You should have seen it." Ron chortled. "It turned Percy's hair blue for a week."

It took nearly an hour for Harry to try out the other strange and ingenious gadgets and candy the twins had come up with, from the relatively tame Snapping Pouches (to deter pickpockets) and Seemingly-Sarsaparilla Sticks (which smelled and tasted initially of sarsaparilla but would change to a rather foul petroleum-tasting substance without warning) to the rather hazardous but exciting Gobbling Gobstones, which would unexpectedly attempt to nip the players' fingers so hard they left a bruise. However, he wisely declined to try the Petrifying Pops or the Itchy Ink.

They had a Quidditch game after that with both players in each team doubling as Chasers and Keepers, and of course the two friends lost spectacularly to the twins, who worked so seamlessly it was like they could read each other's minds. Ron demonstrated all the plays he could think of and tried to explain the subtleties of the moves to Harry, who still didn't really understand but found it extremely interesting anyway. But the Quidditch practice after the match, on the other hand, made Harry wish he had eaten the Petrifying Pops after all and gotten himself out of it.

"You're almost as bad as Wood!" Harry groaned, collapsing on the floor of Ron's room, not caring that he was all sweaty from an afternoon out in the sun.

As it turned out, Ron's idea of "Seeker practice" had involved hurling Dungbombs at Harry to see if he could go faster and getting the twins to charm and release twenty golf balls at the same time to see if Harry could get them all before they hit the ground.

"Wimp." Ron snorted. "Well, you got all of them at the end, didn't you?"

"Easy for you to say." Harry muttered. "Where's Hermione anyway?"

"In Ginny's room I suppose." Ron said absent-mindedly as he rummaged through one of his pockets for something to eat.

Just then, there was a fumbling knock on the door and Hermione barged into their room with a heavy-looking and dusty tome in her arms, her eyes not really sparkling the way they always did when she had chanced upon another fascinating (to her, at least) titbit of information.

"I found this really detailed book on Morgan Le Fay on Ginny's shelves, and—"

"Oh that was from our sixth uncle." Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Who's this Morgan Le Fay again?" Harry asked.

"How can you not know who Morgan Le Fay is?" Hermione shrieked, perhaps slightly annoyed that the two boys kept interrupting her. "She might have caused the downfall of Camelot but she's one of the greatest sorcerers of all time! Even muggle children know her name!"

"Here, look at this," Ron said, stuffing the last of the chocolate frog into his mouth and handing Harry the card. "They call her Morgana sometimes."

"Oh. King Arthur's sister."

Hermione muttered disgustedly about overlooked women and turned the book towards the two boys so they could read properly.

"There," Hermione said, pointing at the drawing of two goblets in the book. "The Chalices of Morgan Le Fay."

"So there's a pair of them, then." Harry said, examining the picture.

"Yes. And you need a key to open them."

"Open what? It's not like they're chests, they're goblets!" Ron said.

"According to this book, each of the goblets will answer one question _and only one question of any person who seeks it. The method to activate the goblets, however, has been lost to wizard-kind for centuries."_

"So they're as good as useless now, right?" Ron said.

"And yet there was an Oblivator guarding one of them." Harry said thoughtfully. "Where's the other one anyway?"

"I don't know." Hermione said, frowning. "It's not mentioned in any of the books I've read so far."

"I think the two of you are just getting paranoid." Ron yawned, stretching out. 

"But…" Hermione shut the book slowly.

"What is it?" Harry asked, surprised by the distress suddenly apparent on her face.

"I woke up to find Ginny tossing and turning. She was saying something about V-Voldemort." Hermione told them in a hushed whisper.

Harry was absently aware that Hermione was getting better at not tripping over the Dark Lord's name.

"You never should have let her tag along into the forest last year." Ron said harshly, his face suddenly fierce and hard.

There was a period of uncomfortable silence as Harry and Hermione exchanged guilty looks.

"It's not her fault." Harry said. "It's mine."

"Really?" Ron asked, his temper getting the better of him. "I can't blame you for rushing into things like you always do, Harry—you wouldn't be the same if you didn't. But she's supposed to be _the voice of reason. Little Miss Thinks-Everything-Through-And-Worries-About-A-Dozen-Unnecessary-Things. Yet she didn't worry enough for Ginny the one time it mattered, did she?"_

Hermione flinched as if Ron had slapped her.

"Hermione—"

But she had already picked up the book and was running down the rickety stairs, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

"What _is_ the matter with you?" Harry fumed, standing up to go after Hermione.

A puzzled look flickered over Ron's face. 

"I don't know." He said, stricken as if he had just realised what he'd done. He got up to go after her, but thought better of it. "Go after 'Mione for me, please?" He asked anxiously.

Confused and disturbed by Ron's behaviour, Harry simply nodded and sprinted down the stairs with a sense of foreboding.

[A/N: I love Fred and George *grins* The most Slytherin-ish Gryffindors around.

Percy's room is on the 2nd landing, while Ginny's is on the 3rd. Ron's is right under the attic, right at the top, and it's on the 5th. I'm putting the twins' room on the 4th.

A comfit is a candy with a piece of fruit/nut inside. I was just looking for something to alliterate without using the word "candy". The Petrifying Pops on the other hand do not belong to me. They are from R. J. Anderson's _Darkness and Light Trilogy._

**Recne**** den eres: thank you for taking the time to review. *grins* Nah, probably isn't that people aren't reading, more like people are usually too lazy to review *mock glares* (and since I'm one of those people, I shall not complain. LOL)]**


	5. Chapter 5: When The Dead Awaken

Chapter 5: When The Dead Awaken 

The trip on the Hogwarts Express was a little strained at first, but they were kept so busy briefing the new Gryffindor Prefects that they found it hard to afford feeling awkward. 

The Houses usually held their own meetings every two or three months, depending on the Seventh-years, but there were only two meetings that all Prefects were expected to attend every year, unless something more important than nightly duties and Hogsmeade patrol schedules needed to be discussed. Cho Chang had been elected Head Girl this year, but she still seemed rather withdrawn, preferring to let the new Head Boy Gregory McGuffin, a Hufflepuff, chair the meeting. 

Of course, the Prefects' carriage, like the Prefects' bathroom, was a little different from the normal carriages. The seats held the shiny smell of newly polished leather and the carpet under their feet was woven with a mixture of battle scenes and animals in forests or meadows, all in rich colours that made the weaving come to life even though unlike other wizarding tapestries it had not been enchanted. And in front of them, just behind the podium, was the Hogwarts crest, the four House mascots united around a large 'H'.

There was nothing of much interest in the announcements, and Harry found his attention begin to waver about the room. Malfoy was no where to be seen again, and rumours had it that the elder Malfoy had arranged for his son to be brought to Hogwarts via private transport after a hexing incident on the Hogwarts Express at the end of his fourth year. The rest of the Slytherin Prefects didn't contribute much other than to nitpick at the schedules, retreating sullenly into their usual corner after the general meeting was over to carry out their House meeting in whispers, as if they were afraid of the other Houses eavesdropping. 

After all that fuss Percy had made about being a Prefect, Harry had found out that Gryffindor House meetings often consisted of discussions on inane things like whether Snape liked acid pops or Professor Sprout could be a Prides fan while Hermione tried her best to get the rest of them back on the topic at hand. And judging from the frequent laughter coming from the other Houses (with the exception of Slytherin), nothing serious was happening either. 

Before long, the Hogwarts express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, gleaming scarlet behind a gust of wispy smoke.

It was most relieving to hear the familiar booming voice calling out, "Firs'-years! Over here!" as they stepped down from the train, and even more so to see Hagrid's beaming face as he waved a lantern about.

"Been missing this, I have." He said happily as Harry, Hermione and Ron herded the first-years towards his massive bulk. "Be seeing yeh fer class?"

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "We're all taking Care of Magical Creatures as well this year."

"Any idea who's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor?" Harry asked.

Hagrid's grin widened.

"Yeh'll see."

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

The four long House tables were already packed with chattering students, the golden utensils gleaming under the light of the candles above a sea of pointed black hats.

"Look! Trelawney's down today." Ron sniggered as they settled down at the Gryffindor table. "I wonder what her Inner Eye had to say about all the first-years getting sorted."

"Probably trying to figure out which one is most likely to die first again." Harry said distractedly, trying to spot Kera.

A quick glance at the high table told him that the teachers missing were Snape, McGonagall and Hagrid. But the sight of the person seated next to Hagrid's large empty chair made Harry forget everything about looking for Snape's charge.

It wasn't her, Harry tried to convince himself. It _couldn't be her. _

She looked younger somehow without her usual flowery aprons, but there was no mistaking that silvery white hair and that pair of pale blue eyes set in a wrinkled and intelligent face.

Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was his dotty cabbage-smelling neighbour who lived two streets away and used to baby-sit him. The one whose death Dursleys' had informed him of so callously.

"But she…" Harry whispered.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"The new professor." Harry said, still in shock. "She used to baby-sit me when the Dursleys wanted me out of their way."

"She _what_?" Ron asked incredulously, turning around to have a better look at her. "I thought you said that was a mad old woman with a lot of cats. She looks pretty okay to me."

"But didn't you say she died last year?" Hermione said, frowning. "It's probably just a coincidence."

"Yeah." Harry agreed, kicking himself for jumping to such a ridiculous conclusion, his eyes still on the professor who bore more than just a passing resemblance to Mrs. Figg. 

"We're in a magical school. Anything can happen." Ron shrugged. 

"Yes, but people don't come back from the dead." Hermione said primly. "Dumbledore said so."

The great doors opened and the first years stumbled in after Professor McGonagall, lining up in front of the three-legged stool and looking around them with a mixture of nervousness and excitement on their faces. Professor McGonagall set the old Sorting Hat on the stool and stood back. The whole school went quiet as they watched it. Then the hat twitched and the tear near the brim opened wide as if it was about to sing…then shut it up abruptly.

"The Grim!" Trelawney gasped in horror, pointing dramatically at the familiar shaggy black dog that had just bounded into the Hall.

"Sirius?" Harry whispered, his heart pounding furiously with worry and fear.

"That daft mutt!" Ron cursed under his breath. "What is he doing here?"

Fortunately, nobody took notice of the worry evident on the three Gryffindors' faces, since most of the school population was well aware of what the appearance of a Grim was supposed to mean. The purebloods especially were making a rather big fuss, and one first-year actually fainted. Despite himself, Harry found himself grinning at the comical expressions of fear on the faces of the Slytherins, especially Malfoy.

Instead of making for the Gryffindor table, the black dog sprinted as fast as it could go and slid under the staff table, drawing a shriek from Trelawney and Sinstra as it bumped into them in its haste. 

"Sorry. He belongs to me." The Mrs. Figg look-a-like said, her voice ringing out clearly above the chaos. The black dog settled down at her feet, tongue lolling out and panting. Harry could have sworn Sirius looked rather pleased with himself for creating such a commotion. But then again, the Marauder probably was.

As the school began to settle down again, the Sorting ceremony continued with a slightly disgruntled Hat. After the first-years had all joined their House tables, Dumbledore stood up to speak, his eyes still twinkling with amusement at Sirius's antics.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard.

"Firstly, I would like you to put your hands together to welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Arabella Figg."

There was some scattered clapping, most of the school still rather wary of the assortment of weird teachers they had had teaching the subject. The Gryffindor trio exchanged puzzled and uneasy looks.

"Sixth-years, I believe your Heads of House would like a word with you in your respective common rooms after the feast." 

A wave of murmuring started amongst the Houses.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let the feast begin!"

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

After giving the Fat Lady the password, they entered the Common Room to find Kera was already there, sitting by the fire with Kendra.

"I didn't see you at dinner." Harry said.

She glanced up briefly.

"Professor Dumbledore seemed to think it would be better if my godfather and I were not present at the Great Hall this evening."

_Oh, right. Sirius._

"Did I miss anything?" she asked.

"Not much." Harry said, anxious to know what she knew about the strange sensations he had been experiencing. But she didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, and retreated into a corner. 

The rest of the Gryffindors began stream in from the portrait hole, and curious as they were about McGonagall's announcement, they got tired after a while and made their way up to their beds, and soon only the sixth-years were left dozing in front of the fire on the squishy armchairs and sofas, waiting for Professor McGonagall.

At almost midnight, the stern professor entered the Common Room.

"Some of you have been chosen for special projects in subjects their professors feel they have potential in." McGonagall told them.

"Too bad this isn't Durmstrang," Ron muttered. "Malfoy would have lots of potential in _something_ alright."

"You will be working from sixth years from the other houses, and I must remind you to be at your best behaviour and not embarrass your house," she looked sharply at Ron. Taking out a rolled up parchment from her robes, she began to read out the list.

"Miss Granger and Miss Ladon, you will both represent the Gryffindor House for Ancient Runes. In addition, Miss Granger will be doing a special project in Transfiguration, Charms and Arithmancy while Miss Ladon will be working on Potions." 

"Over-achiever," Ron whispered jokingly to Harry, indicating Hermione. She didn't look too happy about not getting picked for the Potions project as well.

"Miss Brown and Miss Patil will be in the Divination project under Professor Trelawney—" Harry tried to hide his grin at the look on McGonagall's face when the two girls erupted into fits of silly giggles.

"Mr. Longbottom, you will be representing Gryffindor in Herbology." An encouraging cheer from the rest of the sixth year boys made Neville turn very red.

"And Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have been requested to contribute to the Defence Against the Dark Arts project." 

"Me?" Ron couldn't help blurting out. "But I'm not even good at it!"

"That, Mr. Weasley, is for your Professor to judge, not you." She said primly. "Now go off to bed, or you'll all be dozing off in your lessons tomorrow."

As they made their way up the spiral staircase to their familiar round room with the five four-poster beds, Harry couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive.

_Well, Sirius is with her,_ he reasoned to himself. _It can't be all that bad…can it?_

[A/N: How long did I take to write this again? ^_^|| Sorry about skipping the Sorting Ceremony…writing the Sorting Hat song once was quite enough, thank you. Besides, there were more important things to write about. =)

The Prides is a nickname for the Pride of Portree Quidditch team.

**Kaelli**** Karali: you'll have to read on to find out, won't you? *grins*]**


	6. Chapter 6: The Seventh Son

Chapter 6: The Seventh Son

"Snape for four hours?" Ron exclaimed as he looked at Hermione's timetable over her shoulder the next morning at breakfast.

Harry took a quick glance at his own timetable. They had only two lessons a day now with a lunch break in between. Compared to Hermione's, his and Ron's were rather empty. Then something caught his eye.

They would be starting on their special project on Wednesday. 

He didn't really know what he felt about spending the whole afternoon with somebody who looked like his deceased babysitter, and not for the first time, he was glad that Ron would be with him.

_How baby-ish_, a voice in his head taunted, sounding annoyingly like Malfoy. _Famous Harry Potter can't go to classes by himself?_

"Look at this," Hermione said, passing the Daily Prophet to them and shutting that mocking voice out…for a while.

"What, more Rita Skeeter?" Ron asked disinterestedly while he heaped sausages on his plate. Ever since Hermione had let her go, the reporter's articles had become so boring that they were rather unreadable, something Hermione seemed to see as a personal achievement.

"No, it's about—"

"The Chalice." Harry said, seeing the familiar shape on the paper.

**Magical Artefact Recovered**

_The Magical Artefacts Office has confirmed reports that the Chalice of Morgan le Fay has been recovered from the muggle __British__Museum__. Found last year during a dig organised by the French Gringotts Branch, it was mysteriously stolen under the noses of many trained wizards just hours after the discovery was related to the Ministry of Magic. Muggle archaeologists were said to have found the relic in an old burial ground just weeks before and a source has confirmed that it was the same one found missing._

_The Chalices were handmade by one of the greatest dark sorceresses of all time, made of pure gold and also priceless in terms of magical and historical value. Initially, Morgan le Fay (or Morgana) was said to have made only one, for Dark purposes, but before her death had a change of heart and made another one. Although both are said to be neutral objects, able to be harnessed for the intentions anybody who holds the enigmatic "keys", it is also commonly believed that the second Chalice was made to fight Dark magicks. Legend claims that each of the chalices contain a prophecy, but the method of extracting the secrets the chalices hold have since been lost to the magical world._

_The Chalice has been examined for signs of tampering and was declared undamaged by the Ministry, but with the supposed rise of You-Know-Who, could it be that some of his followers have tried to use the Chalice and failed? The recovered relic has been moved to heavily-guarded Ministry stores, while its sister Chalice remains to be discovered._

"_Supposed_ rise of Vol-voldemort indeed." Ron said with difficulty, his face paling a little just from the effort of saying the name. "Do you think they could be right? About why it went missing."

"Wouldn't put it past them."

"Or maybe they got the wrong one." Hermione suggested. "Maybe they got the one that wasn't Dark."

"Well even if they do get the right one, what are the chances of them finding out how to use it, right?" Ron said as he nervously stirred his porridge.

_Probably nearer than we think,_ Harry thought darkly.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then shut it abruptly when Kera sat down beside Harry at the table. There was an awkward pause in the conversation which she didn't seem to notice, or more likely, she didn't care.

"I suppose you'll be going for that Defence Against the Dark Arts supplementary class?" Harry asked her. It had been set up for those who had decided to stop taking Defence Against the Dark Arts as a core subject or thought they wanted extra lessons in the topic, in view of the rise of Voldemort. Almost all the sixth- and seventh-years were in it, with exception of the Slytherins. 

"No."

"You're not going?" Hermione asked, too surprised to keep silent.

"It's a waste of time." Kera replied, sounding too much like Snape on a bad day to encourage further questioning.

Having nothing to say to that and too much that couldn't be said in the presence of Kera, the rest of the meal passed in silence.

The first lesson of the day was Care of Magical Creatures, so the four Gryffindors made their way down to Hagrid's hut after breakfast. Nobody else was there yet except the half-giant, who greeted them enthusiastically while they fought off an eager Fang, who slobbered all over Ron's robes.

"An' who's this?" Hagrid asked amiably, noticing Kera making her way to her usual seat.

Luckily for Kera, Hagrid, like the rest of the school, hadn't made the connection between the small girl standing in front of him and the dragon he'd seen barely four months ago.

"She's the—" Ron began helpfully.

Harry nudged Ron in the ribs hurriedly and tried to change the subject.

"Where did you get that thing, Hagrid?" Harry asked pointing at the large blade hung on the wall that Hagrid had used last year during the battle.

"My Mom's dagger," Hagrid beamed.

"How is she?" Kera asked suddenly.

"Doin' well." Hagrid replied, smiling. "I go over ter her place when I can."

The giants had declined Dumbledore's offer to build living quarters for them just on the edge of the grounds, preferring to retreat into the highlands looking over Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest for fear of frightening the students.

"Yer lot should come over with me for tea sometime. I told her all 'bout yer."

"Sure." Harry said, trying not to look uneasy. Ron looked like he'd much rather visit Aragog again than go up a mountain to have tea with a tribe of giants.

They were interrupted by a stomping sound from behind the hut not unlike a rampaging hippogriff, and then the loud and final squawk of an unfortunate fowl. 

"Um…Hagrid." Hermione said, worriedly. "What's that?"

"Oh, right! Come see what I've got!" Hagrid said enthusiastically, totally missing the looks of apprehension that Harry, Ron and Hermione had on their faces. Kera looked at them, amused.

"You sound like he just told you he's got that manticore in his backyard."

"Maybe he has." Harry said faintly.

They approached the pen in Hagrid's backyard warily.

"This is Vern." Hagrid said, stepping aside.

Vern turned about to a dragon-like creature but with only two legs instead of the usual four, about the size of a small van. Reptilian and intelligent eyes scanned the faces of the children curiously as it flapped its leathery wings at the Gryffindors, seeming to enjoy the attention.

"It's a wyvern." Kera said with distaste.

"That's right." Hagrid said happily. "Closest thing ter a dragon Professor Dumbledore would let me have."

"That thing is nowhere near a dragon." Kera said disdainfully. She cast one last contemptuous look at the creature towering over her and went back to her seat.

"She's right, though." Hagrid said with a bit of a sigh as he stroked the neck of the wyvern. "This fella is mixed blood."

"Another pure-blood supremacist." Hermione muttered, frowning.

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was just as Harry remembered it—musty and with the shelves filled with some strange specimens and curious books, and a few mirrors from Lockhart's days still hanging, but now partially covered. But sitting here with only Ron with him, the room seemed darker somehow, creepier even as the afternoon sun shone in thin streaks through the high windows casting the shadows into deeper contrast.

The Gryffindor second-years had had their Defence class yesterday and while none of them had been overly enthusiastic about her, the new professor didn't seem to be a host for a disembodied Voldemort, a narcissistic conman, a Death Eater in disguise or something from another species. Yet.

"Are we in the right place?" Ron whispered nervously.

"I think so." It seemed silly to whisper when there was nobody else in the room, but it felt right, somehow.

"Think they all came early and got their brains eaten?" Ron asked jokingly.

She could have been a zombie or a hag for all he cared, but what troubled Harry a little was the fact that the Professor's large black dog which they had all assumed to be Sirius hadn't tried to contact Harry at all. Could it be that they had mistaken an ordinary mutt for his godfather after all?

The backdoor to the teacher's office creaked open and in walked the familiar silver haired figure. Her usually slightly hunched form was now held straight and she walked like a twenty-year-old although from her shock of white hair she would most probably have been in her late seventies. 

"Good morning Professor Figg." Harry mumbled.

"Look at me when you speak to me, young man." Professor Figg said, her expression serious but her eyes twinkling. Harry's head snapped up in surprise. "Wasn't that the first thing Arabella taught you?"

"How…?"

Someone else emerged from the office, followed by a big black dog, which gleefully pounced on Harry and slobbered all over him.

"Yuck!" Harry laughed, pushing the heavy canine off him.

With a soft pop, his godfather was standing in front of him with a wide grin on his face. Ron glanced at Professor Figg and the stranger with her, but neither seemed particularly surprised by the animagus's identity as he gave Harry a bone-crushing hug.

"Where's Moony?" asked Harry after he had untangled himself from his godfather.

"He's hanging out with a pack of werewolves in the Forbidden Forest." Sirius replied, grinning impishly. "Seems like the daughter of the leader of the pack fancies him quite a bit."

"He's living with them? But they're supposed to be dangerous!" Ron blurted out unthinkingly. 

"They're pretty nice actually." Sirius said. 

"Still human for the other days of the month." The stranger agreed.

At the sound of her voice, Harry was suddenly reminded of the presence of the other people in the room. The strange woman was younger than Professor Figg, perhaps in her late thirties. She bore a striking resemblance to the older woman, her eyes the same pale cornflower blue, but her hair was a deep honey-blond.

"This is my daughter." Professor Figg said. "She will be assisting me to supervise your project."

"Just call me Arabella." The younger woman said cheerily. "It gets so confusing if you call both of us 'Professor Figg'. Besides, I'm not really your professor, and it makes me sound so old."

"Is it just…us?" Ron asked in surprise as he gestured at the otherwise empty classroom.

"Only you and Mr. Potter are in this project." Professor Figg nodded.

"It's nice to meet you again, Harry Potter." Arabella said smiling. "I hope those horrible relatives of yours weren't too nasty to you this summer when I wasn't there to look out for you."

"You…_you're_ Harry's babysitter?" Ron asked in confusion, looking from mother to daughter. 

"Polyjuice." Harry realised, remembering the way her house had always smelt of cabbage. She nodded, grimacing.

"I hope my "death" didn't give you too much of a shock. I just got so sick of not being able to use magic and having to drink that horrid potion."

"But why…" _Why couldn't you have told me earlier?_

"I'm really sorry, Harry. I wanted to every time you came over, but the time just wasn't right." She said gently.

Harry nodded, still feeling cheated. All the times he'd dreamed and prayed for someone to rescue him from the Dursleys and someone who could have brought him back into the wizarding world and saved him from all the misery he'd been through had been right next door.

Professor Figg exchanged a look with Arabella and sighed.

"Could you please deliver this note to Dumbledore?" she asked Sirius.

Sirius frowned, obviously unwilling to leave Harry after their brief reunion and with Harry looking so downcast.

"Go on." Arabella said, holding out the envelope. "He'll still be here when you get back."

"What do you think I am, a post owl?" Sirius grumbled. He transformed and bounded away with the note in his mouth.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter… besides your prophetic dreams and visions about Voldemort's activities, have you heard or felt anything unusual lately?" Professor Figg said in a no-nonsense tone.

Harry swallowed, forcing himself to stop brooding.

"Uh…well, I heard my cousin say something strange. Or I thought I did."

"Yes, you would usually find it easier to hear those related to you by blood, perhaps especially if they are muggles."

"_Especially_ if they're muggles?" Ron asked.

"Muggles usually aren't aware enough to build up their shields against magic." Professor Figg explained. "It's usually easier to read the minds of muggles and squibs than wizards."

"I'm telepathic?" Harry asked in astonishment.

"It would appear that you have some potential to be a Seer." Professor Figg agreed. 

"This isn't really a Defence Against the Dark Arts project, is it?"

"Well... In a way it is." Arabella said cryptically. "Though I would advise both of you to keep this a secret."

"Oh," Ron said in what Harry recognised was Ron's 'it's about Harry Potter again' tone. "So I'm just here to make it look right."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Weasley," Professor Figg. "You are after all the seventh son of a seventh son."

"I'm a what?" Ron asked in surprise. "Well, Dad is a seventh son, but I…" At this, the expression of both mother and daughter grew serious.

"You've probably never heard of it. Your mother had another son between Charlie and Percy…there was something wrong with him that nothing could cure, bless his poor little soul." Professor Figg told him. "He died when he was barely a month old."

"So I…but…" Ron stammered.

"Few Seers really achieve much before their twentieth birthday without proper training." Arabella explained. "Harry has had some external help."

"Voldemort." Harry said softly, frowning.

"Not just Voldemort." Professor Figg corrected. "I believe by Miss Ladon transferred some of her blood to you last year?"

Harry nodded.

"The main problem those of the Wild Magic face is lack of focus. Power is nothing without control." Professor Figg told them. "You may have found that she has some problems with wandwork."

Harry nodded, remembering the time she'd accidentally turned Neville invisible with a simple glamourie spell during Charms.

"So that's what she was saying about Defence Against the Dark Arts being a waste of time for her." Ron realised with a start. "She needs a wand for that," sounding so much like Hermione that Harry couldn't help smiling a little. 

"But from what Albus has told me, one of your strong points is focus." Professor Figg said. 

"We're here to teach you how to tap into that power." Arabella said. 

"And with proper training Mr. Weasley should be able to catch up in no time." Professor Figg said.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

"So both of you are Seers?" Ron asked. They nodded. "Like Trelawney?"

"Not really." Arabella grinned. 

"So what can you do?"

"Actually, we're more interested in what the both of you can do." She answered. "What do you say we start with your training?"

[A/N: *apologies profusely* I was trying to write other stuff for OoTP competitions, so I took a long time to write this. And I'll be starting my University term soon, so I'm afraid it's going to take even longer for me to post new chapters…but post I will, don't worry. =) Never give up, never surrender! Oh wait…wrong show.

For those of you not familiar with the superstition, the seventh son of a seventh son is thought to be blessed with second sight or an ability to foretell the future.]


	7. Chapter 7: Fur, Eyes and Feathers

Chapter 7: Fur, Eyes and Feathers

On Thursday morning, the entire sixth-year level was abuzz with excitement as they discussed their various projects. Harry and Ron feigned interest in Neville's animated description of the mandrake and venomous tentacula cross-breeding project he was working on while they waited for Hermione to come down to breakfast, though why anyone would want to create something that could knock you out with a scream while it strangled and poisoned you was quite beyond Harry.

There was a loud thump beside them as Hermione dumped her near-bursting book bag on the floor, providing a welcome interruption to Neville's enthusiastic accounts on the properties of dragon dung fertilizer.

"We get special animagus training as our Transfiguration project!" Hermione squealed, barely able to contain her excitement. "What about the both of you?"

"Jusomfin unvampires." Ron mumbled unintelligibly through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, not meeting Hermione's eyes. 

"Who else is in the Transfiguration project?" Harry asked hurriedly.

"A couple of Ravenclaws...Terry Boot and Padma Parvati. Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff." Hermione made a face like she had just tasted something awful. "And Malfoy."

Ron choked on his eggs and Harry nearly spat out his tea.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, patting his back.

"Yeah. I always make a habit of drinking tea with my lungs." Harry choked out.

"How _can_ we be okay? With Malfoy getting to turn himself into some beast so he can sneak around and spy on us!" Ron said angrily.

"We'll have to register our forms and markings after we have completed the transformation." Hermione said. "We'll be able to recognise him. Besides it's illegal to use the transformation to spy on anyone, unless you're an Unspeakable."

"He'll be unspeakably annoying after this alright." Ron muttered.

"Any idea what animal you'll become?" Harry asked.

"I bet you're a bird, bird-brain." Malfoy sneered at Hermione as he passed the Gryffindor table.

"And I bet you're something small and furry, Amazing Bouncing Ferret." Ron retorted.

Malfoy flushed pink at the reminder and scowled in fury.

"What do _you_ know, Weasel? You didn't even _qualify_ for the project."

"And I don't see you qualifying for See—" Ron said hotly.

Harry stamped hard on Ron's toe. Malfoy's eyes narrowed shrewdly as Ron turned red and busied himself with his eggs again.

"Quit staring at us, Malfoy." Hermione said. "Go back to your table where you belong."

"I don't take orders from you, Mudblood." Malfoy spat as he strolled off towards Kera as she entered the Great Hall.

Once he was gone, it was Hermione's turn to stare at the two boys.

"Qualifying for what?"

"Er…Seeker!" Harry improvised hastily. 

"Yeah, 'cause, you know, the stupid git bought his way onto the team and everything." Ron agreed.

Hermione gave them a look that said she didn't quite believe them, but let it pass.

"Anyway…"

"What's this?" Ron asked as she pushed the sets of coloured papers into his hands.

"N.E.W.T.s study schedules." Hermione replied, digging out one set for Harry as well.

"'Mione, it's the first week of the term and the N.E.W.T.s are two years away!" Ron said in exasperation.

"And look what happened to the both of you the last time you left your O.W.L.s to the last minute." Hermione said primly.

"We didn't do that badly!" Ron protested.

"You could have done better!"

"'Mione…" Ron began with a bit of a whine.

_Looks like everything's back to normal then._ Harry thought with a grin as the familiar bickering started up around him.

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

The weeks flew past in a flurry of homework, prefect duties and Quidditch practice. There were no more mentions of the Chalice in The Daily Prophet—in fact, there were not more mentions of anything of real importance in it anymore as far as the Gryffindor trio were concerned since the paper was sticking to Fudge's side of the story. Kera was seen disappearing into the dungeons with increasing frequency, presumably to look for Malfoy or Snape, so that Harry rarely got a chance to talk to her anymore. Even the first Quidditch match of the season against Gryffindor was a letdown. Ravenclaw fared dismally again, since Cho had spent most of it flying aimlessly like a robot that had been programmed to keep doing something but wasn't very sure why it was still doing it.

The quiet and calm brought a sense of uneasiness that weighed on Harry's mind. The idea of Voldemort laying low and licking his wounds was just too tempting to be true.

The only bright spot in his life turned out to be his Seer training sessions with Arabella and Professor Figg. Neither he nor Ron seemed to be making much progress, but he was starting to feel less freaked out about all the strange things he had been hearing and feeling as he learnt about the extent of their abilities. Besides reading minds, they had been told that they could sense magic and emotions to a certain extent, and they would also have some visions as they got better, which were much more accurate then the divination techniques they'd learnt (or had pretended to learn) in Trelawney's class. 

"Those things Sibyl teaches are for people without The Gift, or with a very shallow inclination towards it." Professor Figg had explained. "People like her."

In addition, Harry also found he got to spend more time with his godfather, and for once he didn't really have to worry about Sirius getting caught. But it always felt bad to lie to Hermione about what they were really doing, and in time they began to find that Hermione was spending more time with Ginny then with them.

Which is why they were spending their first Hogsmeade weekend in a musty bookshop with Hermione instead of making the most of their time in Honeydukes or the twins' new shop (most of the Gryffindors had sworn off Zonko's to show their support to Fred and George). 

Hermione had been genuinely pleased and had gone off looking for books on Animagus-transformations in a better mood than she had been in for a long time, while Ron and Harry flipped through the newest addition of _Quidditch Through The Ages. The move Hufflepuff had used last year at the Quidditch Finals had been entered as "Cedric Chaser", and to Harry's disconcertion and Ron's great amusement, there was another new entry entitled "Potter Gulp", detailing the move where Harry had nearly swallowed the Snitch in his first match. But there were only so many times you could read it from cover to cover after practically memorising the bits that hadn't been in previously._

"'Mione…" Ron grumbled as Hermione dumped another book on the over-towering stack in his arms.

"Oh alright, just this last book." Hermione said, attempting to pull a thick volume off one of the higher shelves.

"You said that about ten books ago!"

"This is important! I've read about so many ways the transformation could go wrong, and—"

"All the more reason you should stop scaring yourself with all these books." Harry said firmly, taking the book away from her. "There is such a thing as too much information."

"Besides, all you need to do is ask Sirius." Ron said rather too loudly as he tried to make himself heard from behind the stack of books.

"Shh! Not here." Hermione hissed with a glance around to make sure nobody had heard. 

"Sorry."

"Let's get out of here."

It wasn't hard to find Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Besides the loud and frequent explosions and shrieks of delight and amazement that could be heard for halfway down the length of the street, there was also an enormous crowd of what looked like almost the entire school, minus the Slytherins, gathered outside.

After a lot of jostling and apologising, they finally made their way into the shop, which was—as expected—in complete chaos. Although the shop had been magically expanded to fit more people, everybody was still treading on somebody else's toes or getting elbowed. Fireworks capered around above their heads like they had a mind of their own, Gobbling Gobstones nipped at unsuspecting fingers, big feathery canaries were turning back to people in a burst of feathers and every few minutes or so someone would step on a trap and get swallowed into the walls or into the floor.

"That's dangerous! They're going to get sued!" Hermione exclaimed after a Hufflepuff first year in front of them sprung a trap and seemed to vanish into the floorboards. Not that anyone could actually hear her above the whoops of amusement and surprise that ensued.

"Startling Sinkholes!" Fred shouted above the cheering, his voice magically amplified. "Keep your enemies out of the way for a while, or give a good shock to your friends!"

"Ten Sickles for one, while stocks last!" his twin joined in just as the missing Hufflepuff turned up a few feet away from him and was loaded with a bagful of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for being sporting.

"Oi, Fred! George!" Ron waved, practically having to shout at the top of his voice to be heard.

"Ickle Prefect Ronnie-kins and his ickle girlfriend!" they crowed, somehow managing to get through the crowd to their sides in a flash.

Then they started in unison, as if just spotting Harry standing next to them. 

"I don't believe it!" 

"It can't be—"

"—Famous Harry Potter?"

"Sod off." Harry grinned, punching one of them in the arm. 

"How's everything?" Hermione asked.

"Spiffing. We were told by an old witch that we sounded like The Shrieking Shack on a chocolate high." Fred informed them gleefully.

"Hey, didn't Kera come?" George asked.

"Don't tell me she's off with Malfoy again." Fred said.

"Nah, we just saw that smarmy git in Flourish and Blotts. She's probably back in school with Snape." 

"Even worse." The twins proclaimed.

"Pass this to her when you get back." Fred said, handing them a bag.

"What's in there?" Ron asked, mystified.

"That's for us to know, and you to find out." George said with a grin. "It's got some pretty nasty hexes on it, so don't you open it unless you want your nose turned inside out."

She wasn't anywhere in Gryffindor Tower when they got back, and judging from the way Malfoy was sulking around in a black mood, she wasn't in the dungeons either.

"I'll check the Quidditch field, you check the library." Harry suggested to Ron.

He hurried down the steps to the main entrance…then he heard a hissing noise he identified quickly as not Parseltongue but Pythostongue.

The first thing Harry noticed about the strange man talking to Kera was that his eyes were the exact shade of green as Kera's. 

He skidded to a stop and found himself instinctively hiding behind a statue of a winged boar, hoping Peeves or Mrs. Norris wouldn't come nosing around and give him away.

"You know the Law," the moustached man hissed, the rougher growl-like accent in his speech harder than Kera's, making his words difficult to follow. 

"And I will go on breaking it as I see fit."

"Did he put you up to this?"

"Nobody put me up to anything. It is my choice."

At that, the man lapsed into another language that Harry could not understand.

"_C' ar son an duine earb_?" [1] He asked, sounding agitated.

"_Air earb mo máthair esan_." [2]

"_Bha do máthair amadan, coslach agad._" [3] He muttered. 

"You grow bolder with each day." She said coldly in Pythostongue.

 "_Air eug ise a chionn esan!" He replied harshly. [4]_

"She died to save him." Kera said flatly. 

_Were they talking about Snape? _Harry wondered.

The man twisted his face into a hideous grimace of anger and opened his mouth to speak.

 "Harry!" Ron's voice came from the staircase. "Have you found her?"

Kera froze.

"_Hist!_" [5] She snapped at the man, turning around to find Harry standing sheepishly behind her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—" Harry began. The moustached man was looking at him like he was something nasty he'd stepped in by accident.

"Lord Veneficus was just leaving." Kera said pointedly. The man scowled and made a visible effort to regain his composure.

"_Eisimeil_." He murmured, still glaring at Kera, and left. [6]

"Who was that?"

"That is not your business."

"What was that language you were speaking in?" Harry asked.

She paused.

"Gaelic." Kera finally replied.

"Why?" He frowned.

"It's an old language. Few people understand it." She said tersely.

"There are even fewer Parseltongues and Pythostongues in the world." Harry persisted, ignoring her glare.

"But as it so happens, they are the very people who are not supposed to know what has been spoken."

"Like me?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Maybe." 

Before he could ask anything more, they heard Ron coming down the stairs behind them. Kera received the package with curt thanks, and disappeared into the dungeons again.

[A/N: translations are as follows:

1) "How can you trust the human?"

2) "My mother trusted him"

3) "Your mother was a fool, just as you are."

4) "She died because of him!"

5) "Silence!"

6) "In your reverence."

Again with my horrible half-baked Gaelic. *grins* 

I've taken a leaf from JKR… no more blow by blow accounts of Quidditch matches. Oh and there will be no changes made in previous chapters to reflect the new information given in OotP, since this fic is largely AU. 

**line-Granger**: well, as Arabella said, they are a slightly different kind of Seer from Trelawney. It has nothing to do with Divination class. *grins* sorry about taking some time to write this, I was busy with some school stuff.]


	8. Chapter 8: Nightmares and Dreamscapes

Chapter 8: Nightmares and Dreamscapes

It was a particularly wet and muddy day for an autumn evening, and Harry wasn't in the best of moods. His robes were all water-logged and clung to his skin, and he could hardly see his team mates even though Hermione had spelled his glasses for him again much less see the golf balls the twins had spelled for Ron for Seeker practice. They had spent the last hour frozen on a broomstick, and Harry was beginning to daydream longingly of the squishy warmth of the armchairs in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, but Ron was still pushing the team with so much zeal and fervour he'd probably have driven even Oliver Wood up the wall.

Struggling to hold his broom straight, he circled above the goalposts, trying to spot Ron in the blinding sheets of rain. 

"Ron!" he shouted blindly. "I think we ought to stop this practice session for today."

There was a loud clap of thunder and Ron's reply was lost in the howling wind.

"Ron!"

"Save it, Harry." Kera called from somewhere below him. "He's not stopping." With that she dipped her broom downwards and soared down onto the mud-splattered pitch.

And in a trice, Ron was swooping down at her.

"Where do you think you're going?" he bellowed. She ignored him and continued trudging towards the warmth and shelter of the castle. 

"Ron, don't think we ought to stop for today?" Harry asked, landing with the rest of his team mates. They nodded in agreement, looking miserable and bedraggled.

"What are the lot of you doing down here? Go back up! Go on!" Ron yelled, his face turning the same shade as the hair plastered all over his face.

"But…" began one of the new Beaters timidly.

"But what?" Ron said, glaring at him. "How do you expect to deal with the Slytherins in the match after Christmas?" Ron roared at them. 

"They've been trying their best." Katie said with an encouraging smile at the new additions to the team.

"That's not good enough!" Ron barked. Gayle looked close to tears.

"Ron, you've got to give them some time." Harry interrupted, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Give it a rest today."

"_I'm_ the captain, not_ you." Ron spat as he shrugged Harry's hand off, his normally mild blue eyes burning with a strange fire. "No matter how much you wish you were."_

"I don't want to be captain." Harry protested, taken aback by Ron's sudden hostility.

"Oh come off it," Ron sneered. "Don't make yourself out to be so high and mighty."

"Hey! You're being unfair to him and you know that." Katie said, jumping to Harry's defence.

"Fine! I'm unfair, everything's my fault! Why don't you all just follow the Great Harry Potter?" Ron snapped as stomp back out to the pitch in the rain. 

The Gryffindor team exchanged apprehensive looks in the awkward silence that followed.

"What's up with Ron?" Katie asked.

"Beats me." Harry frowned. 

"You'd better be keeping an eye on Weasley, Harry." Kera said quietly, her eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious that there's something amiss? Unless you're saying he does this all the time." 

"Are you suggesting that Ron's under some sort of spell?" Harry asked, getting even more worried.

"And I hope we find out what it is before he becomes a danger to the both of us."

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

Shadows writhed in a strange dance in the odd, greenish gloom. A hideously elaborate throne carved with twisting serpents was set in the middle of the chamber, and in the deathly quiet, the only sounds were the popping of apparition as the chamber began to fill up with black-robed and masked figures. 

A strange hissing began to fill the damp air, soft at first, then gradually getting louder and clearer, with a distinctive form, sounding like some sort of made-up language. Then one of the coils began to move, as if the carvings had come alive. 

A large serpent moved sluggishly forward, as if drugged by the cold clammy air, coming to rest at the foot of the throne. It lifted its head within the reach of a pale and skeletal hand…a hand that belonged to the greatest Dark Lord of all time.

"Nagini," he sighed, stroking the reptile's head fondly. The snake made a strange hissing noise the way a cat might have purred. 

"You have heard, of course, about the attack on Hogwarts by my legion of dark creatures." Voldemort addressed the Death Eaters, his livid scarlet eyes half closed as Nagini curled up at his feet. "The attack that ended in a spectacular defeat at the hands of mere students."

The hushed silence was broken only by ominous wet crunching noises and an eerie crooning from the shadows.

"You must wonder why I've led such a weak horde of brainless creatures on this siege, and why I've let myself be foiled once again by Dumbledore." Voldemort said with a thin smile, scanning the prostrating figures of his followers for the faint stiffening of guilt. 

"Perhaps you, my faithful, like the rest of the wizarding world, doubt my power and believe me weakened!" Voldemort snarled, his voice rising in a crescendo to echo in the hall as the Death Eaters scrambled to bow low with murmurs of denial.

"I have waited fifteen years for this. Fifteen long years." Voldemort said, his fist clenched and his face twisted in fury. "What's another few more?"

"Do you mean to say, My Lord, that the beasts were but a distraction?" A tall cloaked and masked figure in the front row nearest to the throne asked.

"I see I have not favoured you of all my Death Eaters for nothing." Voldemort hissed in satisfaction. 

"I realised, of course, that I had been too hasty when I had first obtained a physical form. Too eager to crush that brat that had been living on borrowed time all this while, when I should have set my sights on more important things." 

"You have a plan, My Lord?" a female voice asked.

"Indeed, Bellatrix." The Dark Lord said, his serpentine face contorting to bestow upon her what might have been a smile.

"Wormtail!" Voldemort called sharply.

A short, balding man with greying hair, a pointed nose, and small, watery eyes crept out of the darkness behind the throne, a silvery hand shinning slightly through his robe sleeves.

"Y-yes, My Lord?"

"Relate the prophecy you obtained from the Chalice of Morgan Le Fay." 

"One from a time beyond this time, one who lives in a world beyond this world, one with a darkness beyond th-this d-darkness. The Children of Lughnasadh will r-r-rise as one, but only as one." Wormtail recited haltingly amidst the surprised whisperings among the Death Eaters.

"There are two others besides the Potter boy?" the woman he had called Bellatrix asked.

"The second one we already know." The figure nearest to the throne spoke again. "It is the last Ladon, Snape's ward." 

"Does he imagine he can keep her safe from us his fellow Death Eaters?" Bellatrix laughed derisively.

"Our fallen brother has no cause for worry," The man replied, a nasty smile forming under the mask. "She will be well taken care of."

"Now find me the last one and kill him before that muggle-loving fool Dumbledore finds out who it is." Voldemort ordered. The cloaked figures mumbled their assent.

"The rest of you may leave. Lucius?"

"Yes, My Lord?" the man who had spoken before came forward to kiss the helm of the Dark Lord's cloak.

"Rise. About your son..."

"I have informed him of his duty, My Lord."

"He better not disappoint again, Lucius. Or I will have to question the usefulness of the Malfoy clan in my great plans."

"I understand, My Lord, I will make sure he does not fail you again."

Voldemort nodded imperiously. "My thanks to your Narcissa for her valuable information. She shall be rewarded."

"Thank you, My Lord." Lucius murmured, and disapparated after the rest of his fellow Death Eaters.

"Wormtail."

"M-my Lord?"

"How did your young master take to seeing his little pet rat again?"

"He doesn't remember seeing me." Wormtail answered, his face flushed.

"And young Malfoy?"

"I-I used Oblivate—"

"Wormtail...what have I told you about using memory spells?" Voldemort asked, his tone dangerous.

"I...I thought—"

"You hoped he would be killed." Voldemort finished for him. Deimos looked up from Karkaroff's mangled and putrid body and grinned expectantly with his mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. Wormtail shivered. 

"No matter. He will join his father as one of my faithful followers in time." Voldemort said with a dismissive air, and Wormtail almost heaved a sigh of relief. Almost.

The Dark Lord turned his soulless red eyes towards Wormtail, and Wormtail had a sinking feeling that he hadn't been forgiven after all.

"But for your negligence... _crucio_."

Miles away underground in the cool Slytherin dorms, Draco Malfoy woke up uncharacteristically drenched with sweat from the strange dream he had just had...about Weasel? He tried to figure out why and what he would be dreaming about the red-haired lout of all people, but the dream was already fading. 

_Probably just too much Halloween candy_, he decided. With a scowl of annoyance directed at the loudly snoring Goyle, he turned over and went back to sleep.

[A/N: I wanted to post this earlier but ffnet died on me. Well my Uni term has just started… lots of things to do, so at best I'll take at least a month to post each chapter from now on. Sorry about that =)

The Bellatrix mentioned here is of course Mrs. Lestrange.]


	9. Chapter 9: All Things Great And Small

Chapter 9: All Things Great And Small

"So what was inside the bag?"

"I didn't ask."

"What do you mean you didn't ask?" Ron exclaimed, earning a disapproving look from Hermione.

"I really don't think it's any of our business," Hermione said. "The twins probably wanted some help with another of their inventions."

"Why ask her?" Ron retorted. "If they needed help with potions they could just ask…well…"

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow at him slightly smugly. Ron scowled.

"So why didn't you ask Kera?" Ron asked Harry, ignoring Hermione.

"She was arguing with someone." Harry replied. "I didn't want to interrupt."

"Arguing about what?" 

"About Snape I think. Something about him causing someone's death."

"With who?" Ron asked.

"I don't know." 

"You don't know? Were they arguing by floo?"

"Yeah," Harry lied. Somehow he felt Kera wouldn't be very happy about him telling them about the other dragon.

Ron sat back into his favourite armchair by the fireplace with an exaggerated sigh.

"If you really want to know, why don't you go ask her?" Hermione said, bending to pick up her knitting, only to find that Kendra and Crookshanks were happily unravelling her ball of yarn.

"Kendra?" a voice called out from upstairs.

"She's over here," Hermione replied, as she tried to persuade the two felines to give up their new toy.

There was a soft swish of robes and the sound of footfalls on the stone as Kera made her way down to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"What a mess." Kera murmured in amusement as her cat looked up at her from among the tangled strands, and set about helping Hermione. The boys exchanged amused glances.

"And you call yourselves witches." Ron said dryly.

"Oh, right!" Hermione exclaimed sheepishly. "_Disintortum_!"

With a wave of her wand, the yarn began to twist lazily like charmed snakes, freeing the two felines and slowly rolling itself back to a respectable ball.

"Thank you," Kera said a little stiffly.

"You're welcome," Hermione replied civilly.

An awkward silence followed. 

"Erm…so how come she's got eyes like yours?" Ron asked suddenly in an attempt to break the tension. Though the two girls always made an effort to be polite to each other now, they weren't exactly on good terms yet.

"A cousin found it amusing to blind her," Kera said, curling her mouth with distaste. "I healed her eyes."

"Does she see through your eyes?" Hermione asked curiously.

"No she doesn't." Kera said, amused. "But I can see through hers sometimes."

_Was that why you knew she was near last year?_ Harry wondered.

"Where's your cousin then? Here?" Ron asked.

"Beaubaxtons." Kera said, shaking her head. "And I think there're some in the China."

Then there was the loud crack of someone apparating into the room, and Harry was attacked by a little multicoloured whirlwind.

"Harry Potter!" the colourful blur squealed in delight.

"Er, yes, Happy Christmas, Dobby." Harry said, trying to make the enthusiastic house-elf let go of his knees.

"Yours?" Kera asked.

"Dobby is a free elf, Miss, but Harry Potter has been very good to Dobby." The elf explained with a smile, finally letting go of Harry.

"Dobby." Kera repeated slowly as if remembering something. "Dinky's cousin?"

"Yes, Dinky is Dobby's cousin! Does Dinky belong to you, Miss?"

"You have house-elves?" Hermione asked, her tone and expression dangerous as Kera nodded.

"Uh-oh." Ron muttered.

"And I suppose your house-elves are made to wear those hideous rags while they slave about, trying to fulfil the every whim of everyone in your house?" Hermione asked angrily. Kera's face hardened at Hermione's tone. 

"And what if they do, Granger?" She asked coldly. "Is it any of your business how I treat my servants?"

"Your _slaves_, you mean!"

"Dobby hears that Dinky is very happy, Miss Hermy-onee!" Dobby said frantically in an attempt to placate the two girls.  

"Hear that, Granger?" Kera asked, sounding an awful lot like Malfoy.

"Dinky is **not** happy!" Hermione said angrily. "She's being exploited and abused, and she only says she is happy because if she said otherwise you would make her iron her fingers!"

"House-elves live to serve, Granger. That's what they exist _for_." Kera replied, her brow furrowed with annoyance.

"They are living, breathing, thinking creatures! They have rights!" Hermione insisted, her voice climbing up a few decibels. The two boys winced. 

Before Kera had had a chance to retort, they were interrupted by a knock on the portrait door.

"Ready ter go?" Hagrid bellowed hopefully from the other side.

"Yes!" the boys replied, rushing to get their cloaks and scarves.

"Anything to get out of there," Ron said fervently to Harry. "Even a giant's Christmas tea party!"

*~*~~*~**~*~*~~*

Harry found himself wishing a little that he had stayed in the Gryffindor common room after all. Hagrid, being Hagrid, had insisted they take the shortcut through the Forbidden Forest. In the dim afternoon light of winter, the trees in the Forbidden Forest cast twisted into strange shapes in the dull shadows reminiscent of the last time they had been there, and more than once Harry had an eerie prickling feeling along his nape, as if he was being watched by hidden eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ron's strangely pinched look, and Hermione (still fuming) with her wand out in case of any danger.

"Don' yer all worry yerselves out now," Hagrid told them, noticing their tensed looks when a distinct scattering sound was heard not far from them. "That's just Aragog's grandchildren lookin' out fer us." 

It didn't make Harry feel any better, considering Aragog had given them his permission to eat them in their second year. Ron turned visibly paler.

With Hagrid leading the way, they soon reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the old hut Sirius and Remus had been living in looking more tattered and rundown than it had been last year, making Harry comment that it was like magic that hadn't collapsed yet, until Hermione reminded him that it probably was. The boulders that littered the foot of the mountain also seemed to have piled up, and a sign had been put up that said 'Warning: Avalanche-Prone Zone'.

"Hagrid, are you sure this is safe?" Harry asked.

"Safe as riding on Buckbeak!" Hagrid said in what they hoped was supposed to be a reassurance, already starting up the mountain.

For more than an hour they struggled up the mountain on the steep, winding, and stony path they had once took in their fourth year Sirius and Buckbeak had been hiding in the caves. The journey was made even harder by the freezing winds and slippery snow and ice, and Ron had to reach out a long arm to steady Hermione every so often. Then there were the tremors that would shake the mountainside as the giants stomped above, sending a shower of debris and the occasional large rock flying down. Luckily for them, the rocks seemed to have been charmed and would bounce harmlessly off an invisible air barrier above their heads to land with a resounding crash below.

By the time they finally reached the huge oak door set in the middle of the mountain, Harry's fingers had been frozen numb under his gloves and his muscles were aching despite years of Quidditch. Hermione had turned ashen from trying to catch her breath.

"Mom!" Hagrid called as he pounded on the door with his fist. "I've brought Harry an' his friends for tea!"

The mountain shook again as they felt the footsteps of someone hurrying towards the door, and in a few moments, the oak slab swung open.

"Good afternoon." Fridwulfa greeted them. "Come in and take a seat."

Too out of breath and too tired to reply, the three Gryffindors nodded politely and slumped into a huge armchair near the fireplace to recover.

The chair was covered with fur and wild hide, much like the other chairs in the room, and by tilting his head back, Harry could see a great domed ceiling above them. He leant forward curiously too peer out from behind the arm-rests, and saw a maze of passage-ways to his left and right, presumably leading deeper within the recesses of the mountain. 

"Professor Dumbledore carved out the interior of this mountain for Mom," Hagrid said. "Great man, Dumbledore."

"Indeed." Fridwulfa agreed, carrying a tray and setting it gently on the table before them. She picked up a teacup and frowned, realising they were more like sinks to the Gryffindors.

"Oh, I brought some mugs for 'em little 'uns," Hagrid told his mother, searching through the numerous pockets in his enormous coat, and finally fishing out three chipped blue mugs. 

Picking up a teapot that was easily the size of the Dursleys' 49 inch TV set, Fridwulfa carefully filled the tiny mugs, a scene that was absurdly funny and sent Ron into fits of slightly hysterical laughter he tried to hide by coughing loudly.

But the mugs of hot tea were heaven after the chilly trip up the mountain, though the trio hadn't quite dared to try the strange misshapen lumps of pastry their giantess host had provided.

"Well go on. Don't be shy!" Hagrid beamed, breaking off a piece and handing one to each of them. "Mom made them just fer you." 

Harry bit into one and choked.

"Now we know where Hagrid gets his taste for rock cakes and talon stew." Harry wheezed as Ron thumped his back.

"Where is your other friend?" Fridwulfa asked them in her deep booming voice. "The one with the fair hair."

"Malfoy? He's not our friend." Ron answered. "He's just a nosey little ferret who happened to tag along."

"Ferret?" She asked in puzzlement.

"Er…Long story." Harry said.

"Dragons." Someone said behind them.

"Pardon?" Harry asked, turning around to find himself staring into the huge wrinkled face of an old giant.

"What is he doing here?" Fridwulfa asked with displeasure. "Get Grawp to take him away from our guests."

The giant ignored her and stood up from his crouching position from behind the huge chair the trio had been sitting in. Bent with age, he wore little more than a loincloth despite the harsh cold, exposing a body creased like old elephant skin. His head was bald in patches as if he had pulled out chunks of his hair at some point of time, and whatever was left of it was long, wispy and white, and hung wildly in front of his face.

"Your number is short of one," the old giant stated gleefully, leering at Harry with his rheumy eyes. The Gryffindor shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"What do you mean short of one?" Harry asked.

The giant ignored his question, attention flickering for a moment – then he began to mutter to himself under his breath.

"Don't yer all mind him now," Hagrid whispered. "He's always sayin' things like that, gone a bit soft now." 

"Why?" Ron asked, still staring fearfully at the mad giant.

But before Hagrid could answer him, the giant let out a slow chuckle that sent shivers down Harry's back.

"Now within the heart of the Forest lies a great treasure, ensnared by the webs of the past." The giant said, looking at Harry but seeming to see through him as if he was not there. 

"Best be looking out for dragons now." He whispered, before walking off back into the depths of the cave.

[A/N: Sorry! I was really swamped with homework and choir practice… looks like each chapter will take about one semester to write at the rate I'm going ^^ But I think the next chapter will be up before Christmas, since I'm on holiday now.

Have you lot watched the Azkaban trailer? Bloody brilliant, it is – I can't wait for June 4th!]


	10. Chapter 10: Falling

Chapter 10: Falling

There had been no one at the manor this year to receive him when he returned for Christmas except for a few house-elves fawning disgustingly over his luggage and cloak until he had chased them all away by ordering them to sterilise their filthy hands with boiling water.

Drawing his cloak closer (it was too ridiculous – Father was so rich, surely they could afford _some_ heating), he walked swiftly up the grand spiralling staircase with his bags trailing behind him like meek puppy dogs, and slumped down on his bed, ignoring the tutting sound his mirror had made at his disgracefully sloppy entrance. But it was impossible to rest comfortably – there was something rustling and sticking at his back. With a put-upon sigh, Draco rolled over and closed his hand over an envelope.

It was addressed to him, in neat slanted writing, and sealed with the Malfoy crest. 

Swallowing nervously, Draco slit the envelope and read the note spelling out the exact message he had been dreading all term.

Draco,

I would like to see you in my study tonight after the Christmas feast. I trust you have not disappointed me this time.

                                                                                                Your Father

The note burst briefly into a bright green flame and littered his robes and the thick carpet with a few fine white ashes.

Draco stared blankly at what had been a solid piece of paper only moments before, and lifted his pale fingers to his eyes, the whitish tinge of dust absolute proof of his damnation. 

Face suddenly contorting in anger and disgust, he stood up and stomped off to his own private bathroom across the hall. A sharp twist sent a jet of ice-cold water from the serpent-head faucet gushing into the black marble sink. Grabbing a brush from the shelf before it could start cleaning his nails on its own, he forced it roughly against his skin, chafing against the tender pads of his fingers and his dust-stained palm viciously until they were red and raw, numbed to the pain by the chill of the water. With a muffled growl of frustration, Draco threw the brush against the wall.

Back in his room, Draco cradled his stinging hand in his nap, welcoming the harsh awakening brought by the pain of broken skin. Packed carefully in one of his bags, wrapped carefully in layers of satin and silk, was a pensieve, holding a record of the memories of every conversation he had ever had with Kera, conversations where he had sometimes forgotten his duty – had felt emotions running freely like a river suddenly unfrozen. Conversations that held every bit of information she had willingly or unwittingly revealed to him. 

All he had to do was to hand the pensieve over – a pensieve that, he had realised belatedly, did not allow him to remove information he had put in – and if it held anything of use, he would be rewarded duly. He had experienced a very unMalfoy-like panic attack the night before, and had tried desperately to extract some of the memories but to no avail. Trying to get Crabbe and Goyle to "accidentally" smash the thing hadn't worked either, and at any rate deep within the recesses of his mind held an exact same copy of these conversations (and more), and he knew Father would have a way of getting at them if it came to that. If only he could somehow forget all of it…

But the problem was – he didn't _want_ to forget. He just wanted them tucked away safe and sound, the way an obsessive collector might preserve delicate fragile collections too precious to expose, and categorise them to admire and marvel at later – things that had made him laugh, things that had made him sad…things that had made him _feel_.

He felt the tears of frustration welling up and blinked them away angrily, though he would have let the petulant tears fall and to hell with Malfoy dignity, if the mirror hadn't been snickering softly. Father would not be happy if he broke another mirror in a fit of what he called "wasteful, weak and childish tantrums". Although he could always blame one of those clumsy house-elves for it of course.

But he wasn't in the mood to deal with insolent mirrors just yet. He needed someone to talk to, even if they wouldn't really be able to help. And if he sat here babying his hand any longer, he just might be desperate enough to end up grabbing one of those gibbering house-elves up for a chat.

_Mother_.

True, he hardly spoke to Mother, and she certainly never showed sign of affection for him – no hugs, no caring words. But he'd always had faint memories of a lady singing a lullaby in a strange language as she soothed him to sleep (he had always assumed that that lady had been Mother, for he knew very well he had had no nanny or wet nurse) – and he had held on to that memory. 

He glanced at the clock on his desk – the dinner guests would be arriving any moment now. Changing quickly into the dress robes that had been laid out for him, Draco quickly tidied himself, cast a simple healing charm on his hand, and made his way to his mother's room, walking as fast as he dared to without incurring a reprimand from one of the portraits.

The door was ajar. Why was it ajar? Mother seldom left the door unlocked, and most certainly never left it open. Perhaps one of those annoying house-elves was tidying the room and had forgotten to shut the door. 

He wasn't particularly interested a spot of house-elf hunting at the moment (it had been a favourite pastime when he was a child – roaming about with Pansy to try and catch one, and making them shut their ears in the oven for being seen) but he figured it might take his mind off this whole ridiculous Kera thing. A sense of loss engulfed Draco as he sighed and pushed the door open, certain that Mother was not in.

But she was.

Her hair was undone and flowed down in loose tresses the colour of pure moon-spun silk. Strewn across her dressing table was a mystifying array of potions and powders, and the room smelt very strongly of the scents of expensive flowers. A dark velvet robe had been laid out – tasteful embroidery done in silver-thread generously and painstakingly woven in, and jewels scattered almost carelessly in the design. Her dressing gown hung off one pale shoulder, a thin satin wrap that caressed her form ever so gently.

And on that exposed shoulder, etched in black in stark contrast with the pale skin of her back, was the tattoo of an elaborate 'M', a hissing serpent with an unusually flower crushed beneath its fangs curled around it, a mark at once alien and familiar.

She turned around quickly at the sound of the door opening, and her eyes blazed when she saw who it was.

Draco gulped, shutting the door in a hurry. For about five seconds he calculated his chances of making it back to his room before his mother got hold of him until he remembered that he was sixteen, not six.

So when the door flew open, Draco was still standing by the door, fidgeting with the uncomfortable high collar of his evening robes.

"Mother, I—" 

Her cold palm sent a sharp flare of pain across his pale cheek. 

Without meaning to, Draco brought up his hand to his face, silver eyes wide with surprise at the slap, apology lost on his lips.

"That will teach you to enter without knocking." Narcissa said, sweeping down the hallway in her elegant black velvet robes. 

"I'm sorry, Mother." Draco whispered, ruthlessly suppressing the tears that threatened to well up.

"Why are you still standing there like an idiot?" She snapped from down the hallway. "The guests are here!"

"Yes, Mother." Draco said, forcing himself it lift his eyes from the carpet, ignoring the sting that remained on his face. Pausing by a large mirror, he cast a small glamourie spell to hide the tint of redness, and swiftly made his way down to the Dining Hall, his haughty Malfoy mask back in place.

In the days that followed the haze that had been the Christmas party, Draco avoided being in the Manor as far as possible. He had not spoken to Mother since the incident at her room. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, had not been seen since he had received the summons late one night – and his return was a prospect Draco did not look forward to.

Today was the last day of Christmas break, and in a way Draco was kind of relieved. After all, what could Father possibly do to him under the eye of that muggle-loving ever-bumbling old fool of a headmaster? At Hogwarts, there wasn't anything particularly worrying or stressful – just the usual routine of classes and homework and trying to make sure Crabbe and Goyle didn't somehow kill him with their clumsiness. And of course, there was that special project with Kera, something he'd actually come to look forward to every Wednesday – four whole golden hours in the dungeons, listening to the soothing bubbling of cauldrons and the soft thuds of sharp metal hitting the wooden chopping boards; the slightly pungent smell of the potions and the dank smell of dark damp places that permeated from the cracks in the stone; working in companionable silence with Kera and Professor Snape, figuring out the intricacies of the properties of various herbs and ingredients, some of which Draco was certain weren't quite legal, like dragons foetuses (Kera didn't seem too bothered by them), runespoor eggs, and unicorn liver and other internal organs which Draco assumed came from the dead unicorn in the woods, back in first year.

But the subject of Kera and Snape only made him think about the pensieve and his father's tardy return even more. Perhaps, if he was in luck, Father would have delivered them both to the Dark Lord over Christmas break, and there would be no more cause for worry, Draco reflected mirthlessly as he swerved his Nimbus 2001 to miss another skeletal tree that had been looming unseen in the ever-present moor mist. 

He flew and flew. It began to get darker, almost dark enough even for him to lose his way in the fog that was curling in and spreading misty tendrils around the moor, and yet Draco continued to urge his broom further from the Manor, into the marshes. It was a bit scary, the way the fog seemed to swallow him – and for a moment he faltered and panicked in the endless grey he had found himself in.

"Draco!" Narcissa's sharp voice rang out in the darkness, and Draco found himself in view of the dim candle lights of Malfoy Manor.

Draco, too relieved and by now quite used to the strange workings of Malfoy Manor which seemed both unplottable and quite able apparate and settle at different parts of the moor to care about how he'd managed to find himself back at the Manor, swooped down on his broom and gratefully entered the lighted recesses of the looming mansion.

"You called for me?" Draco asked obediently, heart still pounding, as she surveyed his mist-dampened clothes and wind-swept disarrayed hair, her upturned nose scrunched with distaste.

"Your Father has returned." She informed him curtly. "Go up to your room."

"Yes, Mother." Draco mumbled, hurriedly trying to make himself more presentable as he walked swiftly up the long winding stairs to his room.

After some hesitation, he rapped the heavily ornate door to his own room with his knuckles.

"Father?" There was no response. 

Draco remained in the hallway, feeling immensely silly to be waiting outside his own room, but not wanting to incur the displeasure of Lucius (if he hadn't already done so). The portrait across the hallway, a stern old wizard who had been a great granduncle glared disapprovingly at him, and Draco scowled back. He tried knocking the door again, and getting no response, gingerly turned the knob.

There was no one in the room. Draco frowned, feeling foolish – then his eyes lighted on a longish parcel resting by his dressing table, next to the insolent mirror.

There was only one thing it could be. Fingers flying, Draco peeled the wrapping off the parcel.

In his hands, handle gleaming, was the newest Meteorite 250.

[A/N: I was writing this in the middle of my exams. Was obviously in denial.]


	11. Chapter 11: The Book of Names

Chapter 11: The Book of Names

"Hello 'Mione," Ron said distractedly as the distinct thump of Hermione's heavy schoolbag landing on the bench vibrated through the wood.

"Anything wrong?" Harry asked, noticing her slightly troubled expression. Ron looked up from his lunch.

"We did our first practical transformation today, and I -" she paused. /I had feathers./

"Oh." Ron and Harry said in unison.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking at them in surprise. "I haven't even told you yet!"

"Um, is this about what Malfoy said about your animagus being a bird?" Harry said hurriedly, wary of Hermione's suspicious expression. "Because he's just a stupid git."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I mean even if you sprouted feathers -"

Harry stepped on his foot under the table.

"Assuming that that was what you were trying to tell us." Ron finished, mumbling into his pie.

Harry pretended to discover a sudden interest in his meal as well and Ron squirmed, neither wanting to look up for fear of seeing that glimmer of hurt in her eyes. It was the worst part of their Seer training - not being able to tell Hermione anything about it.

"Anyway," Hermione said briskly, continuing as if nothing had happened. "I bumped into McGuffin in the hallway, and he said there'll be a prefect's meeting tonight after dinner."

"Oh no," Ron groaned and mumbled something about needing to sleep.

"It's only one o'clock," Hermione said a little curtly. "Surely whatever it is you both do for the Defence Project isn't _that_ tiring."

"She pushed us quite hard with the, er, dueling today." Harry lied. It felt even worse lying to her than ignoring her questions.

The truth was, Professor Figgs and Arabella had spent the better part of the morning getting them to try to hear each others thoughts. They'd had very little progress because they'd been trying too hard (according to Arabella, that much concentration was cluttering up their minds) but the moment they'd stepped out of class they'd realised to their chagrin that they had no problem skimming the surface of everybody _else's_ thoughts (quite ironic, really), and neither had any idea how to shut it off other than by concentrating on avoiding eye contact with everyone without seeming rude. And if Harry's own headache was anything to go by, neither of them would be much inclined to be paying attention to the prefects' meeting this evening.

.

It was most unfortunate that McGuffin also had one of those voices that although could not quite match Professor Binn's sleepy drone, had a way of making Harry lose interest all the same. At the moment he was going on about the details of patrol for the next Hogsmeade weekend.

Harry gave a massive yawn before he could stifle it.

"Potter." McGuffin barked acidly. "I'm sorry you find these proceedings so uninteresting."

Before Harry could apologise, Ron stood up from his seat with such force that his chair almost flew backwards, turning red in the face.

"Don't you talk to Harry like that!" he roared. McGuffin stepped back in alarm at Ron's murderous expression.

"Ron! What _is_ the matter with you?!" Hermione asked, her shocked expression reflected by all others around the table. Ron continued to fume as if he hadn't heard her.

"Cool it," Harry hissed, grabbing Ron's wand hand. "Sorry, the both of us are really tired today." Harry told McGuffin.

"Oh look," Malfoy proclaimed in a stage whisper, smirking nastily. "Potty and Weasel are holding hands. Isn't that just absolutely sweet?"

"Shut up!" Ron turned around so that his wand was now pointed at Malfoy. Malfoy's smile faltered a little.

"That will be enough, Weasley," McGuffin said firmly, recovering himself somewhat. "Do us a favour, Potter, and get him back to the common room before he does something he regrets."

"Congratulations, Potter," Malfoy drawled hatefully as Harry turned to leave with a still slightly crazed Ron. "Looks like your insanity is catching." The Slytherin prefects snickered.

"One more word from you, Malfoy, and I'll throw you out of this meeting myself." Cho said evenly. Malfoy glared at her, but kept his silence.

"She thinks she's so great," Malfoy sneered quietly to another Slytherin prefect the moment Cho's back was turned. "Probably gave her the post because her boyfriend got himself killed."

Cho flinched like she had been slapped in the face. Then there was a loud bang, and Malfoy flew across the room, still in his chair. With an annoyed crack, the chair tipped it's occupant on the floor and began to wobble back to the table.

Malfoy's face contorted with rage as he picked himself up, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a series of rodent squeaks...­ _ferret_ squeaks.

"Weasley!" McGuffin thundered. "Get out of this room!"

Fighting a hysterical urge to giggle at the horrified expression on Malfoy's face, Harry grabbed Ron and dragged him out of the room.

.

"Did you see Malfoy's face?" Ron choked, his freckled face red from laughing so hard. "I've been itching to do that ever since Fred taught me the spell." He turned to look at Harry and the mirth on his face died.

"Okay, what's up with you?" Harry asked quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ron mumbled.

"You've acting very oddly all term - shouting at Hermione and me, getting all worked up for no reason...­"

"I don't know, Harry, I really don't," Ron said glumly slumping against the stone of the passageway. "You reckon McGuffin might suspend me from prefect duty?"

"What happened back there?"

"I don't know," Ron frowned, running his fingers through his head of fiery hair. "Suddenly everything just got really intense and my head felt like it was going to¡­ explode or something. And then I just get really mad at everything."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since the school let out I guess," Ron replied gloomily. "At first I thought it was just something the twins had slipped in my food for a joke. Would be just like them, you know, to sneak some sneezewort or something onto my plate."

"Why didn't you tell Hermione then? You know her, she'd probably drag out a dozen books from the library and tell you how to deal with it in about five seconds."

"Or she might make me go to Madam Pomfrey, who'll decide I've lost my mind and send me to St. Mungo's forever."

"Ron -"

"No, Harry, I don't want her to worry," Ron said. "I promise I'll...­ I'll go to Madam Pomfrey myself if it happens again." His face paled, the pessimistic certainty that he'd truly gone mad all over his face.

And Harry, who knew the futility of arguing with Ron when he was in a stubborn mood like that, gave in. For the moment, at any rate.

---

"How's Ron?"

"Not trying to kill McGuffin, if that's what you're asking," Hermione sighed. "Has he said anything at all about why he's been behaving so strangely?"

"He was just tired, that's all."

"_Just tired_." Hermione snorted incredulously. "What a way to get suspended from prefect duties."

/I know something's up,/ Harry heard Hermione think. /And I hate it when you leave me out of it like that./

Harry forced himself to maintain eye contact with Hermione, as if he hadn't heard her at all.

"Did you want to say something, Hermione?" Harry asked out loud, pretending to look politely puzzled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing. I didn't say anything," Hermione snapped in disgust. "Let's go down to Professor McGonagall's office, or we'll be late."

/I know you can hear me, Harry. I know you can./

.

"Come in."

"Good evening, Professor."

"I'm sorry to call for you both at such a short notice, but there has been a sudden meeting for the Heads of House. Professor Snape has something to say about Mr. Weasley's outburst last night, I'm sure," McGonagall sighed, her lips pursed tightly together. "I will need the both of you to watch the Book of Names for me in my absence." She indicated a large book that rested, open, on a small stand in the corner of the room.

"The Book of Names? Isn't that the book that magically records the birth of every magical child in Britain and records the location of each magical being?"

"That is correct, Miss Granger," McGonagall agreed, smiling. "I should have known that if any student in this school had read '_Hogwarts: A History_' it would have been you."

Hermione beamed and Harry resisted the urge to smile and roll his eyes.

"Of course the book is quite capable of doing its job on its own. I don't expect much to happen tonight, but just in case...­"

"Don't worry, Professor, we'll keep watch."

"If the quill starts coughing, a common unblotting spell will do the trick," McGonagall advised, and the office door clicked shut behind her.

.

An awkward silence followed Professor McGonagall's departure. Hermione, who was still fuming and did not want to talk to Harry just yet, pulled out one of the books she had gotten on animagus transformations from her book bag (she had of course finished all her homework long ago). Harry, having not thought of bringing his half-finished Charms essay, went to McGonagall's bookshelf, curiously perusing titles such as '_Skin and Bones: The Art of Animal Transfiguration_' and '_T__ionndaidh__ Buileach_'[1] - all sounding quite as stern and proper as their Transfiguration professor. Across the room, the self-writing quill hummed contentedly in its little inkpot by the Book of Names, the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

Harry was flipping through '_Great Transfigurations of the Century_' when the quill began scratching energetically on an open page.

"_William McDogal_," it scribbled on a blank page. "_January 25th, 1996, __9 1/10 o'clock_."

It was rather untidy sort of handwriting, and the quill had written all over the margin.

"It's in green," Harry observed. "Does that mean he's going to be in Slytherin?"

"Then there wouldn't be a need for a Sorting Hat now, would there?" Hermione pointed out, not looking up from her book.

"Oh. Right."

Gingerly making sure that the green ink had dried, Harry began flipping through the rest of the book. The pages were old and yellowed, but the book seemed to have been lovingly preserved. The bindings creaked a little as he flipped past page after page of messy scribbles - boys' names in green, girls' names in purple.

"_Fred Weasley_," he saw on one page. "_April 1st, 1977, 1 13¨M30 o'clock_." And just below it, "_George Weasley, __April 1st, 1977__, __1 9/20 o'clock_."__

_Well that explains a lot_, Harry snorted. He paused as another scribbling caught his eye.

"_Draco__ Malfoy, __August 2nd, 1979__, __Midnight_."

"Hey! Malfoy's younger than me and Ron!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and stashed her book back into her bag.

"_Honestly_, Harry," she said. "You and Ron and prefects, you really should try to set a better example for the younger Gryffindors."

"Says she who was all in a fury about 'stinking Slytherins' last year," Harry teased.

.

A flash of blue caught his eye, and he paused to read the writing.

"Mister Firenze, The Forbidden Forest, The Clearing beyond the Fork," Harry read.

"This must be how they address our Hogwarts letters," Hermione said.

"Does this track everything then?" Harry asked slowly.

"Well...­ I suppose so."

"Hermione, could I have a piece of parchment?" She acquiesced with a look of puzzlement as he placed the blank piece of parchment on an open page of the book. Harry swallowed, heart pounding in anticipation.

"The Chalice of Morgan Le Fay." He told the quill clearly.

The quill hovered above the parchment, trembling ever so slightly, but didn't move otherwise.

"It was worth a try," Harry shrugged at Hermione, slightly disappointed. "I suppose the book doesn't track non-living obj-"

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm.

"Look!"

The quill had started scribbling furiously over the parchment in shiny blue ink:

_The Forbidden __Forest  
__Aragog's__ Lair  
__The Hollow in the __L__argest __F__allen __O__ak_

The quill paused, then settled back in its inkpot again, humming softly.

---

Hermione had given Harry a don't-you-dare look all the way back from McGonagall's office, hissing loudly about all the reasons why he shouldn't go off alone into the Forbidden Forest to retrieve the Chalice. Harry scowled inwardly. Of course he wasn't going to go off alone into the Forest - he was going to bring Ron.

But Ron was fast asleep by the time they returned to Gryffindor Tower and resisted all of Harry's attempts to wake him (Harry suspected he should not have mentioned the Chalice was in Aragog's Lair until Ron had actually woken up and it was too late to pretend he was sleeping).

The glowing dial of his watch told him it was nearly two o'clock in the morning when he finally gave up pretending to sleep and wandered down to the common room with his father's invisibility cloak under his arm. The fire in the fireplace had dwindled down to a spluttering semi-darkness by then, but even in the dim light Harry noticed a pair of pale green dots that seemed to be floating in the air. Kera was staring at the dying embers, her eyes eerily unfocused. They had taken on an almost reptilian glint.

"Kera?" Harry ventured. "What are you doing?"

She did not seem to have heard him. Harry frowned, not liking her vacant expression one bit. He closed his eyes, envisioning the smoke from the sputtering fireplace twisting serpentine like so many ephemeral gray snakes.

"What is it?" Harry managed with effort, the hissing and spitting of Parseltongue that always seemed to be emitted by someone else making even the hairs at the back of his own neck stand up in the silence of the common room.

"_Uipinn_,"[2] she breathed, as if in a trance.

"What?" Harry had the sudden immense impulse to shake her out of her unnervingly blank expression, and in a moment he would have grabbed her.

The portrait door swung open with a bang, the Fat Lady hissing indignantly. Harry looked up in surprise - the tall black-clad figure making his way through the cubby-hole was none other than the potions master himself. The sallow-faced man did not seem pleased to find Kera was not alone, and the dour look on his face soured further as he took in the cheery warmth of the red carpets, tapestries and plush squishy chairs of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry hurriedly stuffed the invisibility cloak under a cushion.

"Why are you still up, Potter?" Before Harry could even manage an answer, Snape shoved him none too gently out his way and added, "Five points from Gryffindor."

"And what are _you_ doing in the Gryffindor Common Room?" Harry replied hotly.

"Any more of your impudence and that will be ten points," Snape warned.

He put an arm around Kera and led her towards the door. She followed without protest, more like a large marionette than a living girl.

"Will she be alright?"

Snape turned, presumable to take off a few more points, then caught the worry on Harry's face.

"Potter," he said as he tapped the door open impatiently. "It would do well for you to bear in mind that Kera is less human than she looks."

And then he left with his charge into the dark passageway, leaving Harry with one more thing to puzzle on.

.

.

.

[A/N: translations are as follows:

1) 'The Complete Change'

2) "Treasure."

McGuffin was mentioned in Chapter 5 as the new Headboy. Sneezewort was mentioned in Harry's Potions or Herbology textbook (in Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 18) as a common ingredient in Befuddlement Draughts by producing hot-headedness (bet you Kreacher slipped some into Sirius's food).]


End file.
